What happened in Vegas
by Jules Ink
Summary: It's all fun and games until you wake up hung-over and married to a stranger. Five years ago Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak made a drunken mistake that could never be corrected. After years on a hellish island he comes back as a man on a mission only to find out that what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas. (Season One Rewrite)
1. Prologue

Hey! I know some of you were hoping for a "_The way back home_"-sequel, and I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I just had this idea when I read the first chapter of _bri617_'s story "_Love Is A Kind Of Warfare_" and I couldn't get it out of my head. So, thanks to Bri for that. ;-) (Even though, this story is nothing like hers, I just want you to know who's ultimately to blame.)

Before we get started, a few words of "warning": If you're looking for a quick Olicity-fix, I'm sorry to say this story might not be your thing. It is turning out to be an even bigger project than I believed it to be when I started writing and there's nothing quick about it. Since this story is far from being done, I will most likely not update multiple times a week like you're used to, even though I'll start by posting two chapters. It's just that the prologue differs so much from the actual story that I felt like putting both out there at once. And I promise: I will update regularly.

Please note that I chose the rating, because the story involves mature content in various forms.

_I do not own the Arrow and intend no copyright infringement._

This story is dedicated to **Albiona**. She is the most amazing person and the only reason I'm posting the story. I hated the fic after a few chapters and was ready to give up on it, but her input and encouragement made me enjoy it again. Her feedback means the world to me and I am thankful for all the time and effort she invested in my writing. All my love.

Okay, more than enough said. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think.

* * *

><p><strong>August 27<strong>**th, ****2007**

The sexy secretary thing she had going on was such a turn-on. Hungrily his eyes slipped over her. The sight she presented him really shouldn't excite him as much as it did. There was no cleavage visible, basically no naked skin, no ass tightly cupped by skinny jeans. Instead, he saw a black pencil skirt and a pink blouse that was neatly buttoned up. Still, the idea to peel those good girl clothes away, sliding the zipper of her skirt down and letting it drop to the floor, the mental image of opening her blouse button by button, made him harden. The thought of opening the low ponytail that was tightly tugging back her hair and tangling his hands in her brown locks while he kissed her senseless, the imaginary vision of her looking up at him over her glasses while she went down on her knees and closed her lips around him made him just want to grab her right here and right now.

He wanted to do bad things to this good girl.

Instead, he forced his eyes away from her full lips to settle on her eyes. They were a little unfocused behind her glasses. He had to give her that – she had downed those shots like a pro; there must be a wild side to her. He wanted to explore that, wanted to explore her.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, that's your cue."

He left the imagery he had created for himself and blinked stupidly. "What?"

His question was answered with drunken laughter. A male chuckle came from behind him and he knew that was his best friend, Tommy Merlyn. His chuckle mixed with the female giggling of the girls in front of him, but there was also a deep and heavy sigh by the man who stood on his left. In the next moment that man cleared his throat and stated, "I said: Do you, Oliver Jonas Queen, take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only onto her?"

Oh, yeah, right. Oliver straightened up a little, placing his eyes on the girl standing opposite of him, smirked and said, "I do."

This time there was hooting coming from behind him. Tommy, the best man, patted his shoulder again. Of course he approved. The whole thing had been his idea.

The minister – who, of course, wasn't really a minister, but only some dude wearing the cheapest suit Oliver had ever seen….Seriously, not even his driver would be caught in anything like that. Anyway, that cheap suit now turned to the brunette that had captured Oliver's dirty fantasy about four hours ago. "And do you, Felicity Meghan Smoak, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only onto him?"

Amusement made her eyes shine as she said, "I do."

Exaggeratedly, Oliver raised his fist in a victorious gesture, before he pointed his index finger at her, "Correctest answer to anything ever!"

He smirked, not caring that his grammar was swimming in a sea of Vodka-Red Bull and that his words were slurred by the Tequila he had added for the simple fact that it had given him the opportunity to make her lick his finger clean of salt. He saw Felicity, the girl he had just married for the sake of a wedding-night, laugh and it only broadened his grin. He placed his attention back on the cheaply-suited chapel employee, "Are we at the kissing part yet?"

"By the authority invested in me by the state of Nevada, I declare you husband and wife. Congratulations. You may now kiss your bride."

"Boo-YA!" That was Tommy.

Oliver didn't need to be told that twice, he reached for Felicity's face and pulled her to him. His lips crashed on hers and he opened his mouth instantly, kissing her deeply and demandingly. Oh fuck, she tasted so good. She felt good. She brought her arms around him and closed the gap between them. Her body aligned to his perfectly, adding friction where he needed it, but not enough, not as much as he wanted. Right then he knew that he had done the perfectly right thing to follow Tommy's suggestion.

"Wow," that was the maid of honor, the red-headed friend of Felicity whose name Oliver hadn't even tried to remember, because she really didn't matter in this scenario. She was nothing but Tommy's lay of the night. "Mr. and Mrs. Queen, get a fucking room!"

That caused Oliver to break the kiss. "Yes," he breathed, "let's do that." 

**August 28****th, ****2007**

It's all fun and games until you wake up hung over and married to a stranger.

Yesterday, Tommy's suggestion had made perfect sense. Since Felicity had claimed to not be the type of girl to just take any guy home, it had been the logical conclusion that he needed to propose to prove that he wasn't just _any_ guy. When he had been wasted, that had been the smartest solution to a problem in, like, ever.

Of course, Oliver's brain had been in his pants by then.

What exactly Felicity's excuse for agreeing was for all of this, he wasn't exactly sure. But as he now glanced around her room (her childhood bedroom actually), he guessed that she should be smarter than that – at least, according to the trophies lining up on the shelf opposite of the bed he was laying in. The engravings made it perfectly clear that he had scored his first ever mathlete last night – proof that you didn't have to be a cheerleader to be crazy flexible.

Last night had also proven that this thing about never judging a book by its cover was true, too, because Felicity most definitely turned out much more memorable than he had expected her to be. Glancing down at the still sleeping girl, curled close to him in her tiny bed, he couldn't help but smirk. Part of him was tempted to wake her up with kisses and ready her for round two... which would technically be round three. The smirk grew wider. That thing she had done with her tongue had been amazing. Maybe, he could teach Laurel how to do that...

Inwardly, he groaned. Way to rain on his own parade! Laurel had asked him to move in with her last week. It had been her first open request that they should take the next step and become more serious. She had said all those things, because her previous, more subtle hints hadn't gotten a reaction out of him. Oh, he had noticed and understood, but he had chosen to ignore all of them because he wasn't ready to settle down yet.

The irony of having that thought while looking down at a girl that was technically his wife wasn't lost on Oliver.

But this wasn't settling down, he knew – and he knew that Felicity knew, too. Last night had been drunken fun. It would turn into another bad-boy Oliver story like the time he had pissed on that cop or when he had drunkenly driven his Porsche into that Lamborghini-store – he had managed to turn the latter into an symbolic act, his friends in the party scene had eaten that one up. Now he had added a drunken marriage in Vegas to a sexy nerd... Could be worse. Still, right then he couldn't help but wonder how much she would cost him. Or, rather, how much she would cost his father.

Maybe, he could call his lawyers and get them to handle this thing without it turning into a big deal. Maybe, Laurel wouldn't have to know. Maybe he could keep the drunken "I do" from his on-off girlfriend who was definitely "on" at the moment and waiting for a proposal... His on-girlfriend who he had cheated on. Again. The on-girlfriend he had cheated on again while also leading on her sister, Sara. Okay, when you put it like that, it really didn't sound good. Not even in his own head.

Maybe, he should take his father up on his offer and go on that yachting-trip with him. Would be nice to be far away when this whole thing became known, would be nice to be far away from the trouble, unreachable on the Q_ueen's Gambit_. It would be even nicer if he had somebody to fool around with...

He placed his attention back on the brunette, who was now stirring next to him. That would work out perfectly, he decided, and bent down to kiss her naked shoulder, which was peaking out from under bright pink covers.

The sudden touch startled her so much that she awoke and scrambled away from him – right out of the small bed. With a thud she hit the ground. Still smirking, Oliver leaned forward and looked down at where she lay.

"Hey there. I mean no harm."

Brushing her hair out of her face, she pushed herself up. For a moment she just looked at him and he could practically see her collecting her thoughts. Finally, she came up with something to say. "Oliver..."

"The one and only." He held his hand out to her. "Come back to bed, baby."

But she made no move. "Don't 'baby' me. I hate it when guys call me that."

"Fair enough. I still want you to come back to bed." He sent her his most winning smile and added, "Mrs. Queen."

That had been the wrong thing to say. He could see it in her face, which momentarily lost its color. Her blue eyes grew huge and the thought that this deer-in-headlights-look shouldn't turn him on so much popped up in his head. Now her hand flew to her forehead. "Oh my God!"

"Yeah, that's what you said last night."

Apparently, she didn't find him as funny as he believed himself to be. "How can you be so calm about this? We made a huge mistake last night. We did a stupid, stupid thing!" She was taking really fast. "I told Vicki that every time I drink Vodka something bad happens. And back then I was talking about the time I tried to secretly puke in her mother's fern. This here, this is worse than fern-puking... And now I kinda wish I hadn't told you that, because that's a really disgusting story you really didn't need to know. I will stop talking in three... two... one."

He just smiled at her. That was so dorky, but strangely cute. Yeah, he could totally go for another round with her.

Sadly, she wasn't sharing his line of thoughts. She was still in panic-mode. "I grew up in Las Vegas. How could this happen to me? We make fun of tourists that get wasted and married! Because it's a stupid, _stupid_ thing!"

"Well, I am a tourist."

Again, there was no positive reaction from her, no sign of amusement or humor. "We need to do something about this!"

He made a dismissive gesture. "My lawyers will take care of that." He patted the mattress. "Now, are you coming back to bed or what?"

Staying on the floor, she blinked up at him, "Your lawyers."

"My lawyers," he repeated. "We should take a trip while they sort this thing out. I want you to join me on my father's yacht. When we come back, the officials will know how much money you get."

"Money?" She stared at him in complete disbelieve, "I don't want your money. We should just go and get an annulment. In Vegas that's as easy as getting married."

"Seems like a whole lot of effort for something that other people could do for us."

Her mouth fell open slightly. She even made that look sexy, Oliver thought. Or maybe it was just the memory of what she could do with those lips. Lips that now formed very unsexy works, "Wow, I married an asshole. How could I miss _that_ last night?"

He kept from telling her that the alcohol had most likely been the reason and simply sighed, "So you won't go on a cruise with me?"

"Of course not! I won't go anywhere with you! Fall term starts in three days and by then I'll have to be back in Massachusetts."

"You're a buzz-kill," he said and sat up, his naked feet coming to rest on her soft, yellow carpet.

Her blue eyes darkened as she pursed her lips. "What about the annulment?"

"I told you, my lawyers will take care of it. Just give me your number and let them handle things."

He got up. When she realized he was naked, she quickly glanced away and he smirked. There was no reason to be shy now. There was nothing she hadn't gotten a good look at last night. Just like he had seen what a perfect sight she was. It really was a pity. They could have had fun on his father's yacht, really live it up. The alternative was inviting Sara. He knew she wouldn't say 'No.' Yes, she was a perfect plan B. Reaching for his underpants he decided to give plan A one more chance. "I can take you to the East Coast, if you want to," he suggested.

She frowned, "What do you mean: take me to the East Coast? How?"

"With my plane," he said as he pulled his boxer-briefs up.

"Your plane."

"Technically, it's my father's plane."

"Your father has a plane. And a yacht. And your lawyers will handle the annulment." Her eyes snapped to his and realization set in. "Oh no! You're a trust fund baby."

He hated that expression with a passion – because even he knew that it fit perfectly. Still, he'd be damned if she'd get a rise out of him. "We call ourselves 'where the party is,' baby." He reached for his pants. "But, fine. Fly coach. I was just trying to be polite." And with that, it was settled for him. Sara was about to get an offer for one hell of a life-changing trip. He would rock her world.


	2. Chapter 1

**October 10****th**** 2012**

Twitter was the first to tell her. It was the simplest tweet, a short tweet, only twenty-one characters long, but she needed to read it three times until she really understood its meaning.

_Oliver Queen is alive._

She sat there in her office, staring at her phone, while she tried to collect her thoughts suddenly all over the place. Of course, it was good news. Him not being dead. Every news involving somebody being not dead had to be good news. So that was good. Good. Very good. It meant that she wasn't a widow anymore. Not being a widow at 25 was good, too. Very good. Maybe the divorce could happen now. He had disappeared before they had been able to do that. Ending a drunken mistake five years after it happened, that was good, too. So. Good.

So many good things. Then why – the hell – did she feel so decidedly un-good? Because this meant reliving things that she had worked really hard to forget. Which was bad. Just awful. Even worse was the thought of facing him, a man she basically only knew through the stories of others, a man she had really mixed feelings about, a man whose mother had made the world believe that Felicity Smoak really was Felicity Queen and a mourning widow to save the reputation of her deceased son. A son who wasn't deceased and who would soon find out that he had returned from the dead, only to be faced with the drunken mistake he had made five years ago.

That was a rather crappy welcome, Felicity thought.

At least the end was near. At least there was the possibility to leave Felicity Queen behind and return to being Felicity Smoak. Shedding the Queen family name would be worth weathering the storm she knew lay ahead.

It took her nearly one hour until she felt ready to inform Jerry, her perfect executive assistant, that she was heading out. Until she felt ready to leave the safety of her office and face the stares of the people on the outside. They all knew; she could sense it in the way they looked at her. The news had spread. It was a whisper in the office air: Oliver Queen is alive. Her husband had returned from the dead.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked with her head held high, her purse in the crook of her elbow, her jacket draped over her arm. Nobody dared to address her – and she was glad nobody did, because she knew that if she said one word the cool facade would crumble instantly.

The plan was to go home and open a bottle of red wine. It died with the ringing of her cell just as she got into her car. When she glanced at the display her dreading suspicion was proven. She answered and forced her voice to be steady, "Moira, hello. I heard the great news."

"Yes, dear," Moira said in that calm and educated voice she had. "We are all delighted. We have a family dinner planned tonight. Please, come and join us."

Felicity felt heat spread over her face. "Oh, I think you should keep it in the family. I would–"

"Felicity, you are family."

That sentence wasn't correct. The correct phrasing would be: everybody believes you to be family. But she didn't correct Moira, because there was no use. Moira Queen only said and heard what Moira Queen wanted to say and hear. That woman was the master in bending the truth to her will – and Felicity folded every time. So, why change a running system?

"When do you want me to be there?"

"At six. Oliver will be delighted to see you." That was another highly doubtful, truth-bending sentence. But, once again, Felicity simply chose to accept it.

* * *

><p>He didn't know what made this situation worse: the changes that made once-familiar things and people seem foreign to him or the changes that made him seem foreign to once-familiar people. His sister was the most radical example. She had been a twelve year old kid when he had left, always running after him, wanting to spend time with him and his friends, glorifying her big brother in a way that couldn't have been further from the truth. He saw glimpses of his Speedy in the seventeen-year-old girl welcoming him with a hug and teary eyes, could discern the traces of the kid in this teenage girl, but he really didn't recognize her at all. She was a stranger to him.<p>

Just like the man who never left his mother's side was a stranger to him. Oliver did not remember Walter Steele at all. He did not care to remember him, did not want to get to know the man replacing his father, replacing the man who had given Oliver's life a purpose and a mission.

Ultimately, that was the only thing that mattered. It was the reason he had chosen to return. It was the only thing he could worry about. It was the only real thing in his life. The rest was pretense. It was the front to keep his true self, the person he had become in the last five years, hidden. He couldn't dwell on things being different, couldn't let his old self distract him when it was just supposed to be a distraction to others. He was a new man, a different man. He had forged a new identity for himself to fulfill his father's dying wish. His true self was all that mattered, even if he needed to keep it secret. That was all he needed his past life for: hiding the truth. As long as he hadn't righted his father's wrongs – as Robert Queen had asked his son before he had pulled the trigger and blown his brains out – Oliver's life would be on pause.

His face unmoving and his posture stiff, Oliver stood in the dining room and let his calculating eyes sweep over the neatly placed table. He did a short mental count, before he placed his eyes on his mother, who was just entering the room followed by, of course, Walter Steele. "Are we expecting company?"

"We are," his mother answered. "Tommy called. He is very much looking forward to seeing you." She hesitated. It was only the briefest pause, but Oliver noticed. He had learned to notice such things. "And I asked Felicity to join us."

"Felicity?" The name was familiar; it tugged at a memory and in the next moment the face of a brunette with glasses wearing a buttoned up blouse popped in his head. Oliver was trained enough to hide his surprise and keep his emotions closely guarded. "Felicity," he slowly repeated, "the girl I drunkenly married in Vegas."

"Yes," his mother confirmed.

"Why did you invite her?"

"Because you vanished before you signed the annulment papers. You were presumed dead. She was your widow, entitled to a part of your trust fund. The media had a field day with that and the leaked wedding photos. And things really spun out of control when she started showing four months later."

The last part was information to rattle even his control. "She..." He stopped and tried differently, "We have... Am I..." He didn't know how to ask that question, because that wasn't part of the plan he had made before he had returned here. And he honestly didn't know what answer he wanted to hear, which he preferred.

"No, you're not." His mother's voice was soft, and Oliver realized that he did really prefer that answer. A 'no' was the better answer, better for everybody involved. This realization wavered when his mother continued, "She lost the baby in the 27th week."

Oliver didn't know what to do with this information. He simply stored it in the back of his head, filed it away for later analysis, because dwelling on something that had happened five years ago, that was the past and that he couldn't do anything about, wouldn't do him any good. He chose to simply nod and signal the two watchful people opposite of him that he had understood. He instead addressed the other elephant in the room. "So, technically, I'm still married to her?"

"Yes," his mother confirmed. "After the test confirmed the child was yours, I decided to support her and grant her the protection of our family, our connections, and our name – after all you registered Queen as the family name on the marriage license."

That was the truth; he had done that. It had seemed funny back then, to make her Mrs. Queen. It had been a joke. Back then he hadn't cared that marriage shouldn't be a joke. Back then he had been careless about everything, had been carefree and uncaring. He had been such a dick.

"Felicity is a very brilliant woman," Walter said now in that dignified accent of his. "She graduated top of her class at MIT."

Slowly, Oliver nodded, wondering what that had to do with anything. The real question was, "So, she's part of this family now?"

"No," Moira corrected. "She's part of the family business."

Oliver looked at his mother in non-understanding. He still stood there, stiffly, by the dining table with quite a few steps separating him and his mother and her... whatever. Lover, probably. "What does that mean?"

"After Felicity graduated we financed her start-up, a subsidiary of Queen Consolidated. It's a computer software business. A very successful one." Walter sounded honestly proud as he said that.

"I invited her here, because to the world she is your wife, but I think after being separated for five years, nobody will judge you for getting a divorce. We should get to that quickly, get our lawyers ready. Technically, you were married for 36 hours, before you vanished. I don't think she can make the whole five years count. She's entitled to a settlement, of course, but the amount shouldn't be too high. I thought we should test the waters with her over dinner tonight."

Oliver looked at his mother and again wondered who of them had changed so much that this sentence seemed so utterly wrong to him. He was still standing ramrod straight with his face unmoving. His voice even he said, "You feel like part of my trust fund plus the start-up is all the money she's entitled to?"

"She never got money from the fund. Never wanted it."

Walter nodded at Moira's words and Oliver again sensed some kind of pride when Walter said, "She's also paying back the money we loaned her for the start-up."

"So, what makes you think that she'll try to make money out of the divorce?"

"She'll lose the Queen name," Moira said, "and that's a door-opener."

On cue the doorbell rang. Oliver took the opportunity to get away from the woman he loved, but who said things that made him wonder. "Maybe it's my wife," he said and tried to keep his tone light. He wasn't sure he was doing a very good job. Light didn't come easily to him anymore; there were just too many things dragging him down. He walked into the hall and saw that a maid had already opened the front door.

In the next moment he was faced with his best friend and his wide smile. "I told you yachts suck!"

Oliver brought the corners of his mouth up and hoped the smile was believable, "Tommy Merlyn." He found himself in a tight hug. Returning it, Oliver forced the memory of his last encounter with Tommy out of his mind, the fear that he had put into this young man, the way he had scared him off, out of Hong Kong so Oliver would not be forced to put a bullet into him.

"I missed you, buddy," his childhood friend said as he let go.

Oliver simply nodded. The ringing of the door bell spared him from having to say anything. He went and opened it, only to be faced with a small blonde woman. She didn't look anything like he remembered her. Her brunette hair had been dyed; instead of a blouse she wore a purple dress that fit like a glove. The only things that were still the same were the ponytail and the glasses. "O-Oliver," she stammered now as if she hadn't expected him to be here.

"Felicity," he answered.

"I am glad you're not dead," she said. As soon as those words left her mouth, she visibly flinched and hurried to add, "I mean, drowned." She had tried to save her previous words and failed. Again, her face twisted, "I mean, it's good that you're back, alive, so we could meet again…. Just to talk. Or, rather, so you could listen to me babble. Which will end in three… two… one."

He stared at her and couldn't help but smile. She might look differently, but this right here was strangely familiar. He got his facial expression under control and stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter. "I agree that we should talk." Her heels clicked on the expensive marble as she walked past him and he added, "Later. Alone."

"Yes," she tried a small smile and he could feel the nerves radiating off her. "I would prefer that."

* * *

><p>Being in the Queen Mansion was always uncomfortable, but this dinner reached new highs of awkwardness. Forcing herself to not down the red wine in one huge gulp to calm her nerves, Felicity took just a tiny sip from her glass before she reached for her fork again to keep her mouth busy chewing and not saying anything.<p>

She quickly glanced at Oliver, who sat next to her at the head of the table. He had neither touched his food nor his drink. There was a rigidness about him, how he sat there, watching his mother carefully at the other end of this ridiculously long table. His eyes were calculating, Felicity thought, observing Walter in clear hostility. She remembered him being loose and easy with mischief in his eyes – the latter had very much excited her after the third Tequila in Las Vegas. He wasn't the same boy he had been back then. It was hardly surprising – she wasn't the same girl she had been back then either – but she noted the change, his hardening. He seemed to be on guard and she couldn't help but feel pity. Somehow it seemed incredibly sad to her that he felt the need to be guarded around his family. She could relate to that, of course: she always felt like she had to watch herself around the Queens, especially Moira. Maybe that was the reason she noted his heedfulness. After all, she shared it.

"So," Tommy spoke up now. "What did you miss?"

Felicity placed her full attention back on her plate. She felt Oliver's eyes swipe over her and she was sure that his watchful gaze had noticed her slightly tightening her grip on her fork. Somehow she couldn't help but feel like Oliver noticed everything, saw and analyzed everything. But maybe she was also giving him too much credit, simply because she knew that there was something to notice. Because, yes, things were tense between Tommy Merlyn and Felicity Queen. There were too many things standing between them for them to ever be casual with each other.

But Tommy was the kind of person to try to defuse the ever-growing tension. He just slipped into the charming rich-boy routine and played the easy-going one – after all, it was Tommy Merlyn's most successful act.

"Super bowl winners," said Tommy, "Giants. Steelers. Saints. Packers. Giants again. A black president, that's new. Oh, and _Lost_. They were all dead, I think."

Trust Tommy Merlyn to bring up a show about people stranded on a deserted island. Felicity couldn't help but turn her head and stare at him, because… _seriously_!

Thea Queen, who sat opposite to Felicity, took that as the perfect opportunity to ask the one question they were all dancing around. "What was it like there? On your island?"

All eyes settled on Oliver as silence fell around them, everybody was listening closely, wondering what the answer to this would be. Felicity couldn't help but stare at him also, watching him how he casually sat there, unmoving, unblinking, unfazed by the tension around him. He took his time answering and when he finally did, he only gave them one word.

"Cold."

If you asked Felicity, that wasn't an answer. That basically meant everything and nothing. But Felicity had to admit that it achieved one thing perfectly: it shut all of them up. So maybe it was the perfect answer, that told them everything they needed to know, namely that he didn't want to talk about it, which was fair enough in Felicity Queen's book.

"Felicity," Walter said now, in an attempt to get a normal conversation going, "I heard the good news from NYSE."

Yes, the value of her company had gone up – even more up. Developing and programming a file management system might not seem like the sexiest thing to do, but the software she had originally developed for QC was a huge success. Or, as her financial manager, Damian James, had called it, "a fucking win bringing in the cash." He was just so much better with that business lingo than she was.

Felicity nodded and smiled at Walter. "Yes, Damian called me just before I arrived. I think he had already popped open the champagne by then."

Walter chuckled in that good-natured way of his that Felicity liked so much. "I can imagine," he said.

"Since we are on the topic of finances…" Moira spoke up now, and Felicity couldn't help the sour feeling that instantly collected in her stomach. Sure enough, the other woman's eyes settled on her.

"I thought I could swing by Queen Consolidated tomorrow." Oliver's voice was even, neutral and natural, but the words he had spoken caused his mother to lose her train of thought. Stunned, she looked at her son as if he had just said the most unbelievable thing ever.

There was also surprise audible in Walter's voice as he said, "I didn't realize you were interested in the company, Oliver."

"I didn't realize you were interested in sleeping with my mother, Walter."

Wow. Felicity nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. Talk about blunt honesty. And people said Felicity had no filter. But other than Felicity, who always turned incredibly flustered when things like that escaped her lips, Oliver seemed completely unfazed. Because unlike Felicity, who only let things like that escape her lips by accident, Oliver hadn't slipped up, his sentence had been deliberate. Felicity was absolutely sure that nothing this stranger sitting next to her did was an accident.

Moira and Walter shared a look that ended with Moira holding her hand out to the man next to her. "Oliver, I should have told you before. Walter and I are married." Her eyes left her husband and settled on her son and Felicity had to admit that she had rarely seen such an expression in Moira Queen's eyes. They were soft and a little pleading – which were both adjectives she wouldn't normally use to describe anything her mother-in-law did. "I am sorry, Oliver, you were gone for so many years that we gave up hope."

"Yes," Oliver slowly nodded. "I understand. It's fine."

"Oliver–" Moira started again.

"I said it's fine." Oliver's voice was strangely devoid of emotion.

"So," Tommy chimed in from his seat next to Felicity, "I say your glorious return to Starling calls for a celebration. You and I will hit the town hard tomorrow!"

Moira tried a smile, "That's a wonderful idea."

What exactly was so wonderful about that, Felicity couldn't say. To her, Tommy's suggestion sounded like a bad idea. A man, who had returned home after five years alone didn't need a celebration or hard hitting, he needed some calm and some time to come to terms with certain things. Getting Oliver an appointment with a professional sounded like a wonderful idea, if you asked her. The tense guy next to her needed serious help.

"I think I should get my own place." With that statement Oliver Queen had not only managed to completely ignore the previously made point, but also to affront his mother. Felicity knew that she really shouldn't enjoy it as much as she did. But – seriously – that was kind of awesome.

The look on Moira Queen's face made it clear that she didn't agree, not at all. "Your room is still as you left it. We didn't change a thing. I never had the heart to do so."

Oliver looked at his mother. "That's part of the reason why I want to get my own place."

"Well, until you find one you will have to deal with living under my roof." Wow, Moira was pouring out the passive-aggressiveness like the true professional she was, laying out the perfect guilt trap. Poor Oliver, as if he didn't have enough problems already.…

"You can always stay in my place."

Felicity felt all eyes snap to her. Her face started to heat instantly, because the last sentence was another example of her mouth forming words her brain had not approved. Why, the hell, had she done that, offered Oliver a place to stay? It was a stupid and senseless thing to say, because there was no fucking way that he would…

"I'd like that. We have stuff to discuss anyway."

…agree to stay with her. She looked at him and saw that he was already getting up.

"I will just get some things from my room." He looked at his mother and asked, "May I be excused?" That was ridiculously well mannered for a guy who had just made a comment to another man about sexing up his mother, as if it were casual dinner-conversation.

There was nothing left for Moira to do but nod. And the glance she was sending Felicity's way while doing so perfectly signaled to the younger woman that she really shouldn't finish her plate. She should get out of the room right now.

She had just poked the devil, Felicity knew, and there would most definitely be hell to pay.


	3. Chapter 2

To be quite honest: I really, really didn't expect such a positive reaction. I'm blown away and ecstatic and very, very giddy! Thank you so much to everybody who took the time to add this as a favorite or who's following this story.

But most of all, I want to thank everybody who took the time to review. And I know this might seem excessive to you, but I feel like calling you all out for being awesome. A heartfelt hug to: **darklou** (welcome back!), **CaRiNeSs **(hi again!), **SJlove07**, **foxxandbeanz** (we are _so_ adorable!), **keelsxoxo**, **misspsycho24** (hey!), shellybeee (fancy meeting you again!), **invisablemagic**, **iluvaqt** (hey!), **lovelove94** (heyhey!), **Bunney**, **Charles-the-Hammer**, **inconstant heart**, **andy**, **red**, **georgia77**, **the-light-inside-of-you** (awesome screen name!), **cruzstar** (fancy meeting you again!), **ArTeMuS09**, **Galatea Black**, **she's . guilty . by . design** (sorry about the spelling ff . net is weird about dots in uploaded documents), **Hal**, **Mysou 13 **(hey!), **schrooten5** (hey!), **batgilr26**, **Redlioness62**, **mel1804**, **BKWurm1**, **julieann . l . wilson **(hey!), **AFireflyInSerenity**, **SueMikaelson**, **aj07to**, **live-in-dreamland1**, **salazarjasam** (you came back!), **Natellah**, **scorpio38457**, **TheCarpet**, **Carfa** (hey!), **SmoakingQueen**, **jjstar245** and serveral guests, who joined the party. Okay, that _is_ excessive. But I love it! Thanks so much!

I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story! God, I really, really hope that.

This is still dedicated to Albiona!

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><p><strong>October 10<strong>**th**** 2012**

His quasi-wife should never play poker.

She had too many tells to ever manage a successful bluff: there was biting her lip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, the way she fumbled with the radio every time she stopped the car at a red light. All of this, combined with the way her face had slipped when he had actually taken up her offer to stay at her place, made it perfectly clear to Oliver that she was nervous. Uneasiness was lingering all around her; it filled up the compartment of the car and made him wish he could get her to ease up just a little bit.

But mostly it assured him that he had made the right decision to stay with her until he found his own place.

He couldn't bear to stay at the mansion, under the watchful eyes of his mother. He needed some place he could come and go to as he wished, where nobody would wonder where he had been all night. And Felicity didn't seem like somebody who would give him much trouble in this regard.

Much the opposite: Felicity was a perfect cover.

His mother should approve; as far as he had understood, she had come to the same realization five years ago and had used Felicity to make her son look better than he really was.

Finally, Felicity steered her car off the street and into a basement garage. She waved a small hello at the man sitting in the security booth. He greeted her with a polite "Good evening, Mrs. Queen" that rang strange in Oliver's ears. Then the man in a blue uniform pressed a button and opened the heavy rolling gate at the entrance. Slowly, Felicity drove through the basement garage, the neon lights switching on in front of her, until she parked her red Mini – a very peculiar choice, if you asked Oliver – in a spot close to the elevator. Turning off the engine, she sent him a small, nervous smile and said, "Home sweet home."

Really, she should never play poker, because she was visible cursing herself for saying that in the next moment. Ignoring her reaction, he just nodded, opened the passenger's door and got out of the car.

He felt her eyes on him as he reached for the green wooden box he had placed on the backseat. Maybe she was asking herself why a guy who had just returned from a deserted island had luggage. That would be a good question, actually. But even though he could practically see this question shine in her eyes, she kept herself from voicing it. He was grateful for that. It was another reason he believed he had made the right choice.

She dug into her purse and finally pulled a keycard out of her wallet. The shiny elevator doors swept open as she placed it in front of a sensor. He gestured for her to enter first. Sending him another nervous smile, she walked past him and waited for him to join her, before she swiped the card through a reading panel and pressed the button reading "14".

Oliver had half-expected for her to press the penthouse-button, but he kept from telling her so. Instead he said, "This place seems well protected." He was serious about that. Apart from the watchful guard, he had noticed ten open security cameras strategically placed throughout the garage – plus six that were well hidden.

Lifting her right hand with the security card slightly, Felicity nodded. "Yes, it's the reason I moved here," she said and instantly continued talking quickly, "I preferred the cute little townhouse I lived in before, but the paparazzi were getting really crazy. It got too dangerous with them crowding the sidewalk. They scared away the children. And I mean literally. Poor Bobby McIntyre. I don't know, if he will ever be the same... That was about the time the neighbors started the hate me. Talk about hostile living situations! Especially Miss Richardson. For an old lady she was a horrible bitch. She turned really anti-me after that one guy trampled all over her roses. She might have won an award for them, but I still think that her billing me ten thousand dollars was a bit excessive. Your mother paid for that, which was nice…. Reminds me that I should probably go and repay her. I don't like being in anybody's debt. I'm really sorry; I tend to talk when I'm nervous."

A high ping announced that they had arrived at their destination. It was a kind of fitting ending for her ramble, Oliver thought. He turned to look at her just as the elevator doors opened, "I have noticed." Because how could he not? But he chose not to say anything else about that, because he didn't know how he felt about the dim amusement her babble stirred inside him. It was an unwonted sensation – and an unwelcome one, because it felt like the memory of something he had long-forgotten and the unfamiliarity of it was distracting. Being distracted was the last thing he needed now. So he simply said, "After you."

A quick nod was her immediate reaction. Her black high heels clicked on the metallic floor of the elevator, but her steps were muffled as soon as she stepped onto the thick carpet that spread out in the hall. Oliver followed her down the hall toward a door without a name-tag, still carrying the box with his most prized possessions. She unlocked the door and he followed her inside.

The apartment was much cozier than he had expected. Warm wooden floors welcomed him, white walls with colorful pictures. She let her purse drop to the floor next to a cabinet and draped her coat over it. Slipping her shoes off, she lost a couple of inches in height. "So, okay," she said and finally looked at him, "you didn't eat anything earlier. Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you."

A frown darkened her face, but, again, she chose to simply accept his words. "But I'm hungry. You made me leave before I finished my plate." Her eyes snapped to him. "Not that I'm a glutton or anything. I watch what I eat. It's part of being a Queen, of course. I haven't had a burger since that night we met in Las Vegas." Now an actual blush crept onto her cheeks, "You probably didn't have a burger either, huh? I am sorry that was really insensitive."

The dim amusement was back instantly, but he hid it by turning away from her and putting his green box on the ground. When he straightened back up again, she hadn't moved, but looked at him with unsure eyes. There was so much tension inside her, so much nervousness leaking from her that he finally felt the need to try to diffuse it. "Felicity," he said politely, "thank you for offering me a place to stay. It was kind of you to do that."

"I should probably come clean and admit that I never got around to furnishing the guest room," she rushed the words out and deflated somewhat when they had left her mouth. "I'm sorry. I just kinda offered you to stay to annoy your mother." The blush on her cheeks turned deeper. "I'm sorry. Again. Your mother always brings out my inner teenager."

Now an actual smile appeared on Oliver's face, but it only played around his lips briefly, before it vanished again.

Felicity's posture crumbled. "I'm a horrible person."

"No," he said in a very matter-of fact tone. "I have the feeling you really aren't."

That was the sentence needed, that was the sentence to somewhat calm her nerves. Oliver sensed it instantly, how she relaxed a little. The previously closed expression on her face opened, her features softened and Oliver couldn't help but curve the corners of his lips upward, too. Because it had been some time since somebody had looked at him like that. It sparked something inside him that he had nearly forgotten in the last five years. He tried to remember, when somebody had last looked at him like that – like a nice, normal guy. No situation came to mind.

But he wasn't a nice, normal guy. He needed to remember that. He needed to never forget that he wasn't a good person.

Right in this moment a very disturbing feeling appeared inside him: Maybe he had made a mistake taking up her offer.

"I need a drink." With that declaration, Felicity turned around and walked through a huge opening in the wall on the left.

Oliver followed her into a huge room that combined a luxurious kitchen, a dining area and a huge couch. The wall opposite to the entrance was made a glass. The city sprawled out behind the windows. Slowly, he walked toward it as he watched the scenery. The sun had set and the lit dots of the windows of other buildings were speckled in the darkness above the glow of the nightlife in the streets: the opened bars and theaters, the moving cars and the walking people. This view was perfect, Oliver thought, because it showed him what this was all about. This was the city, his city, and he was here to save it, to make it a better place. And before he had accomplished that, there was no way that he could be a nice, normal guy.

A soft noise behind him told Oliver that Felicity had uncorked a wine bottle. It was his cue to tear his eyes away from the magnificent view. He turned around just as she was filling a big-bellied glass with red wine. She quickly glanced at him, "Want one, too?"

"No, thank you," he politely declined as he walked toward where she stood behind the kitchen counter.

He watched as she took a huge swig of red wine and instantly refilled the glass. "Sorry," she said when she was done and stood there with her glass filled more than was decent. "It's not every day that your Vegas-husband comes back from the dead."

"I understand. I had a rather stressful day, too. I came back from the dead." He said it evenly; there wasn't any aggression or accusation in his voice. It sounded like the most neutral thing for him to say, as if it was a simple observation.

Apparently, to her it sounded like a joke and she chuckled slightly. "Yeah, that sounds stressful." Her blue eyes settled on his as she turned serious. Her voice was soft and compassionate as she said, "It really must have been a lot to process. All those people... Would you rather be alone? Have some time to yourself?"

She was the first person to ask him that. Everybody had just assumed he wanted company, that he wanted business as usual. Her compassion was unexpected. It caught him by surprise, just like the warmth that spread inside him. He cleared his throat and realized that this was the first time that his cool had visibly wavered tonight. "To be honest. Yes, I'd like that." He thought for a second. "Are there gyms that are opened 24 hours? I think I could use a workout."

Surprised, she looked at him, then smiled. "Yes, there is!" Holding on to the wine glass with her right, she motioned for him to come with her with her left. "This way."

He followed her down the hall to the last room on the left. She pushed the door open, switched the light on, and Oliver was faced with another beautiful view on the city – and a treadmill facing the skyline. He also saw a pretty advanced weight lifting machine: Leg Abduction, Lat Pull Down, Pec Deck Machine – it was all there. He noticed a yoga mat, a stepper and huge TV – those didn't interest him at all. But the rest... he could put that to good use while enjoying this amazing view. He took two steps into the room.

"Will this do?" The tone in Felicity's voice made it clear that she was serious about the question. There was no triumphant double-meaning attached to it, no underlying bragging about her actually pretty well equipped work-out room. She was actually asking him if this was what he had it mind.

"It will." He glanced back at her.

"Great." She gestured behind herself. "There's a shower right next door. I only have those girly shower gels, but feel free to use whatever you what. I'll put towels and a toothbrush there for you, too."

He nodded. "Thank you." And, really, he was thankful. "And the guest room is…"

She frowned as she mentally completed his unspoken question. "I was serious. There's nothing in there…. Okay, that's not true. I keep shoes there, but there's no bed."

"I don't mind. I'm used to sleeping on the floor."

Oliver nearly flinched at he saw her reaction to this confession and he knew that he had said too much. She looked utterly taken aback, her hand with the wine glass sank, before she shook her head as if forcing a thought away.

"Oliver," she said in a gentle voice, "you might have been in a really _cold _place for five years, but you aren't anymore. Here, I won't let you sleep on the floor." He looked at her, and she straightened up. "We are both adults and I think that we can share a bed. You stay on your side and I'll stay on my side and we both will be comfortable, warm, and get the rest we need." She added a smile and signaled that this conversation was done with. She stressed the finality by gesturing toward the treadmill. "Knock yourself out."

And he did.

* * *

><p>The rain was splattering against the windowpane. Lightning was flashing in the sky, illuminating the room brightly for an instant. The thunder followed with a loud bang, making Felicity wake with a start. Normally, she was a very heavy sleeper, but not tonight. She knew that the man laying on the left side of the bed, closer to the window, was the reason for this.<p>

She was very aware of his presence. Not in a sexual way, but in an "I'm sharing a bed with a stranger" way. Technically, she might be married to said stranger, but that was only a technicality. Because the man next to her was nothing like the boy she had shared a drunken night and an awkward morning-after with. She had decided that she needed to forget their encounter in Vegas, because it was irrelevant. It meant nothing.

This here was a fresh start – and tomorrow she would talk to him about bringing it to an end.

As Felicity now sank back and rested her head on the pillow, she decided they needed to have a really serious conversation tomorrow, or later, since it was way past midnight. This was the time, when the late night turned into the early morning. It was that time, when the days blended into each other and turned indistinguishable.

They hadn't talked much last night. She had been awkward and tense, he had been so guarded and intense—talking hadn't come naturally to either of them. Even though, Felicity had said a lot. It had been years since she had rambled that much. Felicity Smoak had done that a lot, actually, but Felicity Queen didn't. Felicity Queen was a business woman, part of Starling City's high society that conversed at dinner parties and charity galas. Felicity Queen had held guest lectures at Ivy League Colleges about coding in general and women in computer science in particular. Felicity Queen was a fucking well-spoken woman, when it mattered.

Last night it had mattered. Still, she hadn't been able to pull herself together. Felicity Queen never thought she'd feel this way, but: she hated this sudden reappearance of Felicity Smoak. Honestly, that girl was such a dork.

Another flash lit up the room and was accompanied by drumming thunder. She really needed to talk to Oliver tomor– when they were both awake. They needed to straighten some things out, discuss divorce. She needed to assure him that she didn't want his money, only her company. Even if many – oh fuck, who was she kidding here? Even if _most_ people didn't believe it: she had worked hard for her company, she had earned it. It was hers and she'd keep it. She wouldn't let anybody tale that from her.

And they needed to talk about Jonas. She needed to tell him the truth, before somebody told him the lie that everybody believed to be true. She knew that it shouldn't matter, but to her it did. She needed to tell him what had happened. He needed to hear it from her and she needed him to believe her and not–

A sudden jerk from her left ripped her out of her thoughts. Oliver was moving in his sleep, unruly, as if he was fighting against something or somebody, a dim whine escaped him and it sounded so incredibly haunted that Felicity sat up. She looked at the man next to her, who was starting to twitch stronger in his sleep. He seemed to be having an awful nightmare. Not thinking any further, she brought her hand up and to his shoulder to rouse him gently.

She had barely touched him when he moved. It went all too fast for her to register what was really happening. All she knew was that he moved, and she was thrown back, pushed down and into the mattress with him towering above her. His left hand closed around her neck, his right hand clenched into a fist and was ready to come down into her face. All she was able to do was stare up at him with eyes widened in shock, watching him loom above her while his fingers dug into her skin. The grip of his hand around her neck was tight, but as quickly as it had closed it, loosened again. Felicity could practically see the recognition in his eyes and the next bolt illuminated a mixture of pain and shock on his features. As the thunder rumbled, he scurried away from her, off the bed and further back. He fled and brought as much space between them as possible.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Felicity sat up on the bed. Her eyes landed on Oliver, who was cowering next to a drawer with his back against the wall. He was hiding his face from her, but the way his shoulders rose and fell showed her that he was breathing heavily.

She, on the other hand, felt the need to swallow. Her mouth was dry. Her heart was drumming in her chest and part of her believed that she could hear the fast pumping. Shock was roaming through her, but as she watched him, the immense panic that had so suddenly claimed her vanished and was replaced by a very strange form of pity.

What had his time on that island done to him?

His actions had shown her perfectly that he could kill her with his bare hands, but she refused to let herself be scared by that – because this poor man had been in a place where killing somebody with bare hands was necessary.

Felicity had just decided that Vegas-Oliver didn't matter anymore, but she was absolutely sure that Vegas-Oliver hadn't been able to do that.

She leaned forward, her eyes still on the cowering man, who now timidly lifted his head. "I'm sorry," his voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to…. I'm so sorry." There was so much pain in his voice. There also was something else audible. It sounded like a mixture of embarrassment and anger; she couldn't say for sure. But she knew without a doubt that her heart was breaking for this man who – if she had her wits about her – should really scare her to death.

"It's okay," she said, and a small part couldn't believe that the much bigger part of her was not only saying it, but also meaning it. "Come back to bed."

Another striking bolt revealed his honest surprise to her searching eyes.

"You don't want me in your bed."

"I don't want you on my floor." She tried a smile. "I startled you, triggered reflexes. You caught yourself before anything happened," she reasoned. "Nothing happened. Everything's okay." He stared at her and she honestly had no idea what he was thinking. She decided not to care. Instead, she patted the mattress next to her. "Now, are you coming back to bed or what?"

He hesitated for another long moment before he gave up his hiding position and pushed himself off the floor just as another flash of light lit him, standing there in only his boxer briefs. Felicity couldn't help but gasp.

His chest. It was covered in scars—mean looking things that symbolized pain and suffering. She hadn't seen the scars before. She'd avoided looking at his naked chest, not wanting to be caught checking him out, because – honestly – she knew it was _so_ worth a good look. But now that she had seen what was really there, she couldn't look away.

Her reaction had been spontaneous, but wrong. When she saw the look on Oliver's face, she realized that her shock had hurt him. As if he hadn't been hurt enough – as evidenced by his scarred skin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to–"

"It's okay," he said, using her own dismissive words against her.

He didn't want to talk about it, that much was obvious, and she chose to respect his wishes. She nodded slowly and said, "It's three a.m. We should try to get some more rest."

They could at least do that: try.


	4. Chapter 3

I am just blown away by all the positive feedback you're sending my 's amazing. You're amazing. Thank you so very much.

An extra special and big thank you to all the wonderful reviewers: **keelsxoxo**, **misspsycho24**, **salazarjasam**, **sakura-blossom62**, **cruzstar**, **B Cardoso**, **thekiller00**, **the-light-inside-of-you**, **mel1804**, **highlander348**,** FaberryBRA**, **Evanscope**, **lovelove94**, **Erika . Cade**, **THE Nick' Amaral**, **thisloveistreacherous**, **foxxandbeanz**, **scorpio38457**, **iluvaqt**, **LachesisBenton**, **Luv2Live**,** krizue**, **schrooten5**, **schoeppc**, **Bunney**, **amkjo001**, **SmoakingQueen**, **TanyaKay**, **shellybeee**, **xSoulfulx**, **NCISRookie33**, **Ireland1733**, **nrdhrd3**, **LillyD11**, **Jen**, **andy**, **Jen**, **Moo Chapman** and a guest!

I know we're just slowly easing into the story and there are still many questions. I hope this chapter will answer some of the most pressing ones you had after the previous chapter. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>October 11<strong>**th**** 2012**

Right about the time she had been ready to give up the pretense and get up, Felicity'd fallen asleep. The last time she had looked at the clock on her nightstand, its red numbers had shown her that I was 5:34. She remembered deciding to get up and get some morning exercise. Starting the day with a jog while watching the sun rise over the skyline had seemed like a brilliant idea.

Instead, she had added four more hours of sleep in a very awkward position, so she started the day with a heartfelt curse –she was running late for an important meeting and her back hurt.

Twenty minutes later – after she had set a new personal record for getting ready – she entered her main room. She liked to call it that, because kitchen/dining/living room was too complicated. Main room summed that up nicely; it sounded sophisticated somehow. And she had come to like sophisticated.

"Good morning," Oliver greeted her from where he stood next to her dining room table. He was dressed in blue jeans and a v-neck sweater and holding a coffee cup. Her first thought – totally involuntary and also very unwanted – was that she could get used to this kind of greeting every morning. A good looking guy with coffee – there could be worse things to wake up to. Of course, there was the little fact that he had tried to strangle her last night...

She forced herself to ignore all of that and to return his greeting, "Good morning." She glanced around the room. "Have you seen my phone? I'm running really late. My first meeting was scheduled thirty minutes ago. And if that isn't late, I don't know what is. I'm sure Jerry's going crazy."

"Your phone's next to your keys on the cabinet in the hall."

"Great, thanks." She rushed back out of the room and when she picked her cell phone up, she really was greeted by fifteen missed calls by her executive assistant. She cursed under her breath while reaching for her keys. She was about to head out of the door when she stopped. She couldn't just leave and just rush away from Oliver. That would seriously send the wrong message to him. Her steps quick and forceful, she headed back into the main room. Oliver was standing by the window, looking out with a coffee cup in hand.

"I have to rush to the office," she said, "but we should talk tonight."

Turning around, he nodded, "Yes, we shou–"

He was cut off by Felicity's ringtone. Glancing down, she saw an unknown number on the display. With a frown on her face, she hesitated before she finally took the call, "Yes?"

First, she was answered by silence, then the caller caught himself. "Felicity, hello. It's Tommy."

That was the first time he had called her, ever. Actually, he shouldn't even have her number, but she guessed that one call to Moira was enough to get it.

"Tommy," she said, surprise audible in her voice. And she was surprised – not only because he called her, but also because he was up at ten a.m.

Her greeting caught Oliver's attention and he watched her carefully while she listened to Tommy say, "Is Oliver still with you? I need to talk to him."

Not reacting to this vocally, she walked toward Oliver and held her phone out. "It's for you."

He was about to take it when he visibly stiffened. She couldn't really place his reaction, the clear tensing of his muscles and the darkening of his face, until he whispered, "Your neck."

She just pushed the phone into his hand and rushed to the nearest mirror, hanging in the hall. She saw what she had missed before, because she had had hurried so much. She saw the bruises on both sides of her neck.

She startled. These were a reminder that last night hadn't only been a bad dream. The marks on her skin somehow made it more real, more threatening than it had been before. They were an angry blue, and she knew that she needed to hide them. She had to change.

When she reemerged from her walk-in closet ten minutes later, she felt like she had accomplished a nearly impossible task. Because going through her clothes had showed her that Felicity Queen really liked to show off her neck. She never wore scarves. Thank God, she had bought that one turtle neck dress last year on a shopping spree. It had been an impulse buy that she had never gotten around to wearing, because it was so tight around the neck that it turned uncomfortable. But today it was perfect.

Now she really had to hurry. She rushed back into the main room, where Oliver greeted her with her cellphone in his outstretched hand. His eyes swept over her new outfit. "Felicity, I want to apologize again for last night."

"Again, you don't have to apologize. It's forgotten."

"I'll start looking for my own place today. Tommy'll take me."

Felicity was about to tell him that he was free to stay as long as he wanted when the sound of a key being turned in the lock startled her. She turned around to look toward the hall where Rosa, who was the only reason why her apartment was so clean, appeared.

The woman stopped dead on her tracks. "Mrs. Queen." Felicity couldn't hold the honest surprise against her. On a normal day, Rosa had the apartment all to herself, while Felicity was busy at work. "Mr. Queen." Oh, and of course, normally, there was no back from the dead husband either.

Felicity tried a small smile. "Hello, Rosa. We'll be out of your hair soon." She turned back to Oliver just as the phone in her hand rang again. Jerry. She sighed. "I really have to go," she said, but felt like stressing again, "We need to talk tonight."

"We will," he promised.

And that was good, because she had quite a few things to say to him.

* * *

><p>Apparently, Oliver Queen smelled too vanilla for Tommy Merlyn's taste.<p>

But this morning in the shower – after another round of heavy weight lifting – he had once against been faced with Felicity's collection of, as she called them, "girly" shower gels, providing him with a scented choice between vanilla-almond, coconut-cacao, and spirited apple. Vanilla had just seemed like the smallest of all three evils – especially since the latter left him at a complete loss.

"Wow, good to get some fresh air. You made my car smell like the dorm of Delta Pi." A big grin on his face, Tommy walked around the car to where Oliver stood on the sidewalk. "Remember those girls? Best thing about Brown."

"I only stayed there one semester," Oliver answered without really acknowledging the other man. His eyes were placed on the big industrial building towering above him. Abandoned, it stood there like a monument of the past he remembered, but that had changed into something he didn't recognize. It was one of many, many unrecognizable things he had been faced with since his return – which had only been yesterday.

Oliver remembered the steel factory buzzing with life: people coming and going from work; the gates, which were now closed and barred up with chains and warning signs, wide open.

"But it was a memorable semester," Tommy said and added a playful, "I think."

Not reacting to his best friend's statement – because it proved that they weren't on the same page right now –, Oliver tore his eye away from the building rotting away, "What happened here?" Adding a broad gesture, he indicated that he wasn't only talking about the factory with the huge Queen Consolidate logo spreading out over it. He was talking about everything around him: the run-down buildings, the closed stores, the homeless people on a sidewalk filled with trash.

"The city's going to shit." Tommy's answer was short and accurate. It didn't explain much, but it was the truth. "Your father closed the factory just in time to make some profit out of it."

The last part angered Oliver on multiple levels. Oliver was about to change the subject altogether, to avoid saying something he might come to regret later, when he heard a very unexpected voice behind them. "If that isn't, Oliver Queen. Starling City's very own Lazarus."

Oliver noticed that Tommy flinched and stiffened next to him, but Oliver refused to do the same. Even though his heartbeat was quickening, he kept a mask of calm in place. Slowly he turned toward the woman standing a few steps away from him.

"Hello, Laurel."

She wore a grey suit, clutching files and pressing them against her chest, while she held on to a briefcase. She didn't look happy to see him. He couldn't blame her. He didn't like himself much for what he had done to her.

"How often did I tell you not to walk through the Glades alone, Laurel." Tommy's sentence was a statement disguised as a question and there was a certain edge in his friend's voice that Oliver noticed instantly.

The brunette woman glanced past Oliver. "And how often did I tell you that I have to go see my clients?"

A silent communication was happening over his shoulder, Oliver realized, and added this insight to Tommy's statement. It lead him to a very clear assumption, but he knew that bringing it up would change the direction of the conversation and other than last night – when he had distracted his mother from talking divorce over the dinner table – he wasn't willing to defuse people by making them uncomfortable.

"You went to law school," he said instead, directing Laurel's attention back on him. "You said you would."

"Yeah," the petite woman stated, her voice filled with sarcasm, "everybody's proud."

"I know you're angry with me," Oliver said then, his voice and face softening the barest bit. "You have every right to be."

"Damn right, I have!"

"I know it's too late to say this, but I apologize. Everything that happened was my fault. Please, don't blame Sara for—"

"For what? For falling under your spell? How could I blame her for the same things that I did?"

"I never meant to—"

"To WHAT? To marry a girl and get her pregnant while I was looking at apartments for us to move into? Or to screw my sister? To take her on a cruise and get her killed?"

The image of Sara getting sucked into the ocean once, and once again, popped up in Oliver's mind, followed by the vision of her kneeling on the forest floor with unbearable terror in her eyes and a gun pointed at her head. There were so many more horrible things to remember that had ultimately started with him taking her on that cruise.

He knew right then that Laurel could never hate him as much as he hated himself, for everything that had happened to Sara in the two years until she had died, really this time.

Because things had gotten so much worse than simply dying. Dying was easy, fighting to stay alive and living with what you had to do to achieve that – that was the hard part.

But Laurel wouldn't understand. She didn't have to understand. She never had to know.

"She was my SISTER," Laurel said now, filled with poorly suppressed anger. "You took advantage of her. You played her and ultimately it's your fault that she's dead. She was just a love-struck teenager! What did you promise her to go with you? Did she know about your wife? The whore that managed to live off your family's name? Bet she never expected you to come back, the soulless slut."

Okay, the anger was not suppressed anymore. It was perfectly clear that she had found an outlet for it. Oliver just looked at her as she continued. "You used both me and my sister. And you deserve to be tied to a woman that liked to take your money, but wouldn't have your child." Her eyes were shooting daggers at him. There was so much rage inside Laurel. Seeing it rattled him. She had never been a hateful person. He had made her that way.

"We buried an empty coffin, because Sara's body's at the bottom of the ocean where you left her," she spat now. "It should have been you."

He couldn't argue with her there.

Laurel still wasn't done yet, "You shouldn't be here. I really hoped that you'd rot in hell longer than five years." With that she pushed past him and hurried down the street. Oliver closed his eyes shortly, needing a moment to collect himself. For once, Tommy granted him that moment, let him gather his thoughts and come to terms with the things Laurel had thrown at him.

All of that distracted him.

It was the only explanation for what happened next: a needle pierced the skin of Oliver's neck and he felt his knees give in. Tommy was laying on the sidewalk in the middle of the crowded street, while Oliver felt himself being dragged back into a van. It was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.

* * *

><p>Being tied to a chair shouldn't be the first time he felt at ease since returning home.<p>

Still, it was.

Because he knew how to handle this. He knew how to snap the ties and how to use the chair to crush a man's adam's apple. He knew how to fight, to kill, and how to not let a man escape. He knew how to break a man's spine. He had never gotten the hang of doing it in the proverbial sense, but he could do it literally.

After everything that had happened since yesterday, it felt good to finally be in control again, to take charge. It had felt fucking good to hit this guy, who was trying to intimidate him with cheesy masks looking like a red skull.

That made him a horrible person, he knew that. And didn't particular care. Those guys had brought his wrath onto themselves.

Oliver had been in many fights in the past five years, in many battles even. But this was the first time that killing three men had ended with him being faced with the police. Laurel, who had seen the abduction, had called them. Oliver had told Detective Quentin Lance – Laurel's father, who was equally angry but more passive-aggressive than his daughter – the story he had made up before: the tale of the man in the hood, who had saved him from his kidnappers.

Quentin Lance hadn't believed him. Oliver couldn't blame him. Yet, the detective would have to face the facts soon enough.

"Ollie." His sister's voice stopped Oliver from opening the front door of Queen Mansion. Somehow it had seemed natural for Tommy to bring Oliver here so that he could make his statement under the watchful eyes of his mother and her new husband.

Bringing a fake smile to his face, he turned to Thea, "Hey, Speedy. I'm sorry, I was about to head out. I want to contact a realtor, start on finding my own place."

"Why?" His little sister stopped opposite to him. "As far as I read you and Felicity continued where you left off..."

Oliver stared at her in confusion. "What?"

"It's all over SCGN."

"SCGN?"

"Starling City Gossip Network. Wow, you've really been gone too long. It's the most important gossip page online. And this morning it posted a picture of a very rumbled bed."

"And that's relevant, because…"

"It was Felicity's bed…and apparently yours."

"Oh, really?" Oliver looked at his sister, who was far too amused by this. "A picture of a bed. That's hardly breaking news."

"It is, if it's the bed of Mr. and Mrs. Queen. And everybody's sure it is, because there was something that looked suspiciously like the dress Felicity wore yesterday in a heap on the floor, plus something that looked like your brown jacket." She gestured to his chest – which was only covered by a v-neck sweater. "The one you are not wearing right now." She smirked. "Want me to go on?"

"There's more?"

"Well, there's the fact that you were photographed leaving her place this morning. Plus the statement by Felicity's housekeeper. She apparently took the picture and informed everybody that you and your wife were having a late breakfast this morning."

This wasn't funny, this was horrible. This was the kind of battle he really wasn't used to fighting anymore. He had been, five years ago, but that seemed like an eternity ago.

The real reason behind the bed ending up so rumpled only made it worse. What people believed to be signs of wild sex was really proof that he was a danger to other people. It was a reminder that he wasn't as in control as he fooled himself into believing. Felicity had done nothing but touch his shoulder, and still she had ended up with mean-looking bruises on her neck. Last night, when he had lain awake, fearing to fall asleep and once again be faced with those horrible nightmares, he had decided that he needed to distance himself from her. To keep her save and to keep his secret. She had seen too much of what he was capable of – in the worst possible way.

Seeing the look that crossed her brother's face, Thea's smile crumbled. "I know it must be weird to be faced with that again. I'm sorry."

"I honestly don't understand why people care about that," Oliver said and realized in the same moment how strangely naïve he sounded.

Thea shrugged. "It's a story about a Queen – and we're always the city's best gossip."

He frowned. "You say that like it's a good thing."

"You left a pretty huge gap in Starling City's party scene. Took a Queen to live up to your reputation."

"Thea," his voice was soft as he said her name. "I never set an example you should follow."

For a second she looked at him with her expressive brown eyes in a way that made him feel like he was warped in time. In that moment he recognized the sister he remembered, the little girl that had crushed on Zac Efron. He knew she had grown up, that things had changed, but this short second made him feel all that he had lost. And it was a lot.

The moment vanished as soon as it came as Thea changed the subject. "So, you're staying with Felicity?"

"Not for long."

"Why don't you stay here?"

Oliver sighed. "Thea, you know I love all of you. I missed you. Every day. But I need some space. I've been alone for five years…."

"So, it's about sex."

"What?" Why was he even having this discussion with his baby sister? "No!"

She looked at him with angry eyes, before she reached for his hand. "Come," she ordered and dragged him along, through the sitting room and out into the park that spread out behind the mansion. She didn't say a word, but simply walked ahead, over perfectly kept grass. Silently, he followed her, until she suddenly stopped and motioned ahead. "There."

He took another step forward, but then he froze. It was the last thing he had expected, here in the backyard, so to speak. He felt his heartbeat quicken and didn't really know how to feel about the fact that he was looking at his own grave, at a tombstone with his name on it.

It was right next to his father's grave, just as empty as his own. Oliver knew. Because he had buried his father himself, had piled rock after rock on top of his body to hide him from hungry birds. It was one of his regrets: that he didn't remember the way his father had smiled at him when he had scored a touchdown. When he thought of his father, the first thing that appeared in his mind wasn't a good thing, a fond memory. It was the thundering of the gunshot that had blown his father's brain out. He remembered the torn open head he had spent days with on the raft until he finally reached the island, where birds had picked at his eyes and his skin. He hated that his father had been reduced to that to him.

But not to Thea. Those were neither Robert nor Oliver Queen's graves, but it was evidently an important spot for his sister, who now bent down to pick up some fallen leaves from his tombstone.

"I come here pretty often. I always knew you weren't really here. The coffins were empty, when we buried them. Mom called it a symbolic act. I guess coming here was one, too. But it calmed me. It could feel connected to you and tell you stuff that was going on in my life. I prayed that you'd come back to us." She straightened up again and looked at him. "You did, but you're still not here. You didn't even stay for dinner yesterday. You're avoiding us, avoiding me, and it hurts."

His eyes snapped to her. He had promised not to let himself be carried away by unnecessary emotions, but he couldn't keep his heart from aching for her. Those emotions suddenly seemed necessary, because he knew she had a point. He should make time for his sister, be a brother to her, be the brother she needed so that their father's sacrifice wasn't in vain. "Thea–", he started, his voice soft, but she shook her head and cut him off.

"I know you went through a lot. I know that it was hell where you were and that you were alone for a long time, that you're not used to company anymore. That's okay. But you aren't alone anymore. You need to let someone in. I know, I'm only your little sister, but I'm here, if you want me to listen. But if you'd rather let Felicity in that's fine with me also, because she has been to hell, too."

And with that she gestured to the third grave Oliver had thoroughly ignored until now; the tiny tombstone next to his. If he didn't know what to feel about his own grave, this one awoke even more ambiguous feelings inside him. He let his eyes travel over the engraving: "Jonas Henry Queen. 2008." Oliver had to swallow, heavily. His brain was still empty.

Suddenly seeming uncomfortable, Thea shifted next to him. "You knew about–"

This time he cut her off. He couldn't let her finish and potentially use the s-word that somehow scared him to death. His voice more collected than he felt, he said, "The pregnancy, yes. I knew about the pregnancy. But that's it. Felicity and I didn't really have a chance to talk." Now that he had looked at it, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He stared at the tiny grave and the beating of his heart grew even stronger. "Mom said she lost the baby…. I didn't know…." He trailed of, because his voice was losing its cool.

"I'm sorry." Thea's small voice ended the spell Oliver was under. He could move again and look at his sister. "It should be Felicity showing you this. I'm sorry. I didn't think this through."

No, she probably hadn't, and he didn't know what to think either. He remembered that his mother had told him when Felicity had lost the baby: the 27th week. Back then it hadn't meant anything to him. Now it dawned on him that it meant that she had been pretty far along. He couldn't ask his little sister about this, somehow it felt wrong. So he just gestured toward the engraving and said, "Jonas, huh?" His voice broke and he stopped right there.

"Mom wanted to name him Robert, like dad, or Richard, like grandpa, but Felicity put her foot down. She said she wouldn't give birth to a Dick."

A snort escaped Oliver and it caused a smile to appear on Thea's face.

"Yeah, she's awesome," Thea said.

"Are you two close?"

"We were during the pregnancy, but after…. It was mom's fault… and mine. Mom didn't want me near Felicity, because of the paparazzi that were stalking her and stuff, but I did sneak away and visited her at MIT." His eyes full of questions, Oliver looked at his sister and he sensed that she was embarrassed by her next words. "It was awful, walking across campus with her. Everybody was staring at her, whispering behind her back. She acted unfazed, though. Walked with her head high. But it scared me. I kinda didn't call her after…"

"You were only a kid, Thea. Thirteen. It's perfectly fine that it freaked you out."

"Felicity said the same."

"Then just believe us."

Now it was Thea pulling herself together. "I just wanted to say that people say a lot of horrible things about Felicity, but they're not true. I know, because she comes here every year on the day he died and sits at his grave for hours. At your grave. Nobody but her and me ever did that. Mom never came back out here after the funeral." Now her voice was getting misty and she cleared her throat. "I think all this makes Felicity a good person to let in." She smiled. "Or me, of course."

He looked at her and, following an urge that was rising from deep inside him, from a place he had believed to have tightly locked, he pulled his sister into a hug.

"I'll consider it," he said.

"That's all I ask."

* * *

><p>There never was a perfect morning for the coffeemaker to break, of course, but this must be the worst day for that to happen, <em>ever<em>. Felicity had never wanted to be the kind of person who made somebody else fetch her coffee, but she had turned into that kind of boss today.

The fact that Jerry, her trusted executive assistant, had told her he'd happily get her one from the café down the street, because she totally looked like she needed it, didn't exactly make things better. Much the opposite.

She had instead sent him to buy a new coffeemaker.

Thank God, she had the perfect excuse for being nothing like her normal self today. Even the boss of Star Labs, Dr. Harrison Wells, had been understanding, despite having to wait for more than an hour to discuss the potential contribution of Firestorm Inc. to the particle accelerator he was in the last stages of building. It was a very interesting project, but Felicity needed to seriously discuss it with Yongtak Chan, her lead programmer, before agreeing to actually be a part of it. Yongtak was a master-coder and she really valued his input. After all, he had been the first to join Firestorm Inc, choosing Starling City over San Francisco, choosing her over Steve Jobs – which was kind of awesome. Yongtak had said that part of the reason was that she had boobs and a sense of style. Only a gay guy could get away with saying something like that.

Thinking back to it now, Felicity couldn't believe she had actually named her company that: Firestorm, Inc. It was a cheesy name, but cheesy and ballsy worked perfectly in the male dominated computer/hacker/coding world. Plus, the mental image of a raging fire burning everything down, leaving the possibility to start anew, had also appealed to her very much back then.

She had just rested her head back against the high back of her office chair and closed her eyes when a soft knock came from her door. It was another proof that today wasn't a normal day, because normally her door was always open. "Yes," she sighed and answered at the same time. Opening her eyes, she was faced with the only person she really wanted to see in this moment: her best friend.

"Tina!" She waved her in. "Thank God, it's you!"

Kristina Miles smirked. "You should really be happy to see me." She lifted her left hand. "I bring gifts with caffeine."

"Tina, you're a lifesaver!"

After carefully closing the door again, Kristina headed to the sitting area in the left corner of the office. Three seats were placed there – a green, a purple, and a blue – around a table. Felicity joined her friend and took the offered paper coffee cup. "A slim pumpkin spiced latte fitting this festive season," the brunette said just as Felicity was about to sit down. Seeing the look that crossed her best friend's face, Kristina could only stay serious for a second. She lifted her hands, "There's no need for your patented anti-flavored-coffee-rant." She grinned and flopped down on the green chair, "It's a plain latte. I was just messing with you."

Felicity sat down opposite to her friend and sighed. "Today's not the right day to mess with me."

"I heard. But the bed looked like it was a wild night."

Stupidly, Felicity blinked at the other woman. Subconsciously, her hand flew to her neck only to find that the turtle neck was still there. Not that she had believed it to have disappeared, but the mention of last night triggered that reflex, before Felicity could reason that Kristina couldn't know about that. She frowned and asked, "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't see? The picture of your dirty sheets are all over SCGN. Rosa spilled your beans!"

"What!" Jumping up from her seat, Felicity raced to her desk, grabbed her phone and opened Twitter. She wasn't officially following SCGN – of course not, she'd never give them _that_ satisfaction – but it was the easiest way to get to all the dirt they were throwing around about her.

Swallowing the sip of her own latte, Kristina grinned. "All I can say to that is: congratulations. Seems like you had a great reunion with your hubby – who, for the record, turned hotter while being on that island. Can you ask him where it is? I think I might schedule a visit."

Felicity's eyes scanned the display of her phone and the article posted by the gossip network she despised with a fiery hatred she had never believed herself capable of. Finally, she had seen enough. She sighed and glanced at her best friend, "It wasn't like that. He had a nightmare, that's all."

"A nightmare?"

Hearing the curiosity in her best friend's voice, Felicity hurried to say, "Nobody can know!" Kristina's brown eyes that were always so gentle turned hard and Felicity hurried to add, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Returning to her comfortable purple seat, Felicity let her phone drop to the table in front of her. She sat down and looked at her best friend, wanting Kristina to know how serious she was about her next works, "You know I trust you more than anybody."

Instantly, Kristina's eyes softened again, but her voice didn't. "I know you've been betrayed too often, hon, but if you ever hint that I might do that, too, I will go and kick your ass!" The small smile appearing on her face showed her teasing. "On a happier note: I also brought muffins. Today is the day to break your diet." She raised a paper bag and reached into it. "Here, blueberry. Vitamins for you."

With a small smile on her face, Felicity took the offered treat. Her best friend knew her so well. Sweets were always connected with a guilty conscience for Felicity. That was the main reason for her impressive gym. The first year in Starling had been a horrible spiral of stress eating and workouts. Felicity had managed to get that under control and she rarely indulged herself anymore. But when she did, she chose the blueberry rather than the chocolate muffin – it was the healthier sweet, after all. She knew she was fooling herself, but she did that pretty successfully.

Felicity really envied her best friend, who never was as self-conscious about how she looked. She honestly had no reason to be. She was beautiful with her flawless olive skin, the thick long brown hair, and the hazel doe eyes. She had a woman's figure with hips and ass and boobs. Kristina always called herself "fat" in that way that slightly chubby people exaggerated. It was fishing for compliments. Kristina knew that the weight looked very good on her. If Tina wasn't her best friend, Felicity would so hate her for that.

Enjoying the moment, Felicity took a huge bite of her muffin. She chewed with her eyes closed for an instant, realizing that Kristina had been right: today was the perfect day to break her diet.

"That good?" Kristina chuckled slightly.

Felicity opened her eyes again. "Better!"

"So," the brunette said while she raised her own triple chocolate muffin, "do you want to tell me why your supposed dead husband spent the night with you?"

"It was Moira's fault."

"Really?" Tina's face hardened instantly. "What did she do now?"

"No, it wasn't like that. I just... I knew it would piss her off, if Oliver stayed at my place and not in the mansion..." Now Kristina laughed that loud and dirty laugh of hers. Felicity shook her head slightly, amused. "I turn into a teenager when I'm around her."

"Yes," her friend agreed. "You do. And it's really funny." Finally, she took a huge bite of her muffin.

"We were on the way back to my place before I remembered the state of my guest room."

Kristina shrugged and said, speaking around the muffin crumbs. "So, he slept on the couch."

Felicity let her own muffin sink. "I never even thought of the couch."

Kristina swallowed. "Must have been weird to be faced with him after all that happened," she said with compassion in her voice. "I mean, you barely know the guy."

"I was so awkward," Felicity admitted. "I fell back into old habits. But Oliver..." she searched for a way to describe him before she settled on, "He's intense in a very... guarded way. It's hard to explain. He doesn't say much, but he's always observing. I can't really blame him. I mean, he was on an island for five years, alone, and suddenly he's supposed to make polite casual conversation over dinner. Talk about culture shock."

"I always tell you: as soon as you become part of the one percent, you trade your common sense for fake manners – present company excluded, of course. With Moira it's only about the perfect appearance. You of all people should know that."

"Yes," Felicity agreed. "I do know that."

Kristina looked at her. "You care about the guy, huh?"

Felicity set the muffin on the table and sank back in her seat. "I feel sorry for him, somehow. I think he's been through some tough shit and he needs help. Even though a part of me knows that I should stay away from him."

"Stay away from him, why?"

For a few heartbeats Felicity contemplated telling Kristina about Oliver's reaction to her touch on his shoulder. She never kept anything from her best friend; she was the one person she never had to pretend with, who knew everything about her. Strangely, Felicity still felt like she couldn't tell Tina about Oliver's hand around her neck, and that witnessing him reacting to his own actions, seeing him cowering against her drawer, hearing him apologize with a broken voice, had rattled her more than anything else. He had looked so haunted and it had stirred the need inside Felicity to fix him. Telling Kristina what had happened... somehow it felt like blabbing a private secret, like baring Oliver's inner demons to somebody else he didn't know. It felt like betraying him.

Felicity also feared that her best friend would hit her over the head for not being more freaked out by it.

Ultimately, Felicity decided on a shrug. "It just seems like the perfect time to distance myself from the Queen family. That's what I wanted for the last five years, but... I feel like I need to stick with him, which is crazy, I know."

"Well, he is your husband."

"No, he isn't. Not really and you know it."

"But you married him – spontaneously, when the Felicity I know never ever makes a rash decision. Must have been something there."

"I make no sense when I'm with him. He makes me do crazy things."

"It's his abs," Kristina said, dead-serious. "Abs like that make women lose their minds. I speak from experience." She hesitated shortly, before adding. "I mean he had great abs before he disappeared. I saw that picture of him when he showed them off at that club. I know I should think that just going around and randomly lifting up your polo shirt to swoon girls with your toned stomach is a dick move, but the sight is just too nice... As I said, abs make women act stupid. Does he still have his?"

The image of his stomach flashed in front of Felicity's inner eye and strangely the only thing she really remembered were the mean-looking scars covering it. "Yes," she answered. "He still has them."

The ringing of her cellphone spared her from having to say more. Quickly, she sat up and reached for it. An unknown number was blinking in the display and for a second she was hesitant to answer. She had been confronted with too many reporters who had gotten hold of her private number to not be suspicious. Finally, she just decided to take the risk, "Yes?"

"Felicity? It's me, Oliver."

"Oliver," she said, surprised. "Hey."

"I bought a cellphone," he informed her and somehow this sentence amused her. A smile showed on her face while she listened to him continue, "Tommy gave me your number. I just wanted to ask if I can come by your place tonight to talk."

"Yes, sure. I'll be home around eight."

"Eight's great."

Felicity thought that was another amusing sentence. But then she frowned. "Where are you? Sounds like you're in a really huge room."

Silence was the immediate answer, then he said, "I'm in one my father's old factories in the Glades. I felt like... I wanted to see how it'd changed."

The image of the old steel factory popped up in her head. She didn't know if that was the factory he was talking about, but it was just a very prominent ruin in that part of the city. Its closing had been one of the last death blows for the Glades. "Oh," was all she could say to that. "I'm sure that has changed a lot."

"It has."

Again, there was silence. Felicity chose to end it. "Then I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Felicity."

"Bye, Oliver."

She ended the call and looked at her friend. "I will end it tonight."

Kristina's eyes rested on her for a moment, before she slowly nodded. "If that's what feels right to you." She gestured toward the half-eaten blueberry muffin on the table between them. "But first, eat your muffin."


	5. Chapter 4

I know that after the mid-season finale we could all use a little lightness to lift our spirits, but... sadly, I have to get on with the backstory-building and that's just... not. I hope that you like the chapter nevertheless.

The positive feedback and all the wonderful reviews haven't ceased to amaze me. I can only hope not to disappoint you from here on out, but—no pressure. ;-) The biggest thank you to everybody who left me a message: **LachesisBenton**, **FaberryBRA**, **HotHybridSex**, **samiha pia**, **thekiller00**, **mel1804**, **misspsycho24**, **Charles-the-Hammer**, **live-in-dreamland1**, **olivebishop**, **Evanscope**, **cruzstar**, **salazarjasam**, **krizue**, **Luv2Live**, **SmoakingQueen**, **scorpio38457**, **schrooten5**, **Bunney**, **shellybeee**, **keelsxoxo**, **Mystic4**, **inconstant heart**, **11-Dino**,** squirtlee16**,** Erika. Cade**, **lovelove94**, **Iluvaqt**, **Jen**, **Melcole24**, **lateVMlover**, **sortofbored**, **Gin2a**, **highlander348** and our guests. You are wonderful.

Dedicated to **Albiona**. Thanks for making time in the midst everything.

* * *

><p><strong>October 11<strong>**th**** 2012**

He was prepared to go out tonight. To get started. Finally!

After he had left the mansion, he had gone back to the Glades, back to the factory and had gotten to work in the basement. It was the perfect hideout, the perfect base of operations. There was still a lot to do, walls to tear down, equipment to set up. Today he had managed to somehow get electricity going again. It was a start. Just like choosing his first target: Adam Hunt. He was in the news at the moment – so he was the perfect choice. This scumbag would not get away with poisoning Oliver's city.

The only thing still missing for that was his bow.

It was safely stored in his green box, which he had pushed under Felicity's bed last night. The nosey cleaning lady had had him worried for a moment, but he doubted that that woman would go as far as breaking open the huge lock he had attached to it. He would take the box with him when he left later tonight.

He didn't like to admit it, not even to himself, but he was a little nervous about going back to her place, about their overdue talk. His hands tightened around the wine bottle – he had somehow felt like he couldn't show up empty handed – as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Tentatively, he stepped into the hall and turned to the right.

The door to Felicity's apartment was ajar, startling him into alarm he reasoned that the concierge sitting behind the high, gloss-finished white desk in the main foyer – who had greeted him with a polite "Good evening, Mr. Queen; your wife informed me that you would visit and didn't have an elevator card" – had probably called ahead and told her that he was heading up. He knocked against the wooden door and pushed it further open, "Hello?"

"Yes, come on in!"

The smell of food filled the air. It reminded him that he hadn't eaten today, hadn't thought about it, because there had been too many other things on his mind. But this smelled really nice, making his stomach rumble.

"Hey," she greeted him as he turned the corner. "I hope you like steak. I think we both had a long day and I, for one, didn't have time to eat much – apart from a muffin, but that was mostly vitamins – and I thought maybe you'd appreciate a home cooked meal instead of take-away pizza. But steak is the only thing I really know how to make, so—" She caught herself and stopped talking shortly, before she said, "I'm sorry. I just hope you like steak."

Oliver walked toward her. "I do like steak. And I am hungry." He lifted the bottle of Lafite Rothschild 1982. "I brought wine."

"Great," she motioned toward a cupboard to her right. "Wine glasses are in there. The opener is in the drawer below. Food is about ready... Is medium okay?"

"Perfect."

Minutes later they sat down at the dining table with their filled plates and filled glasses and Oliver had to admit that this was nice. It was somehow relaxing being here, sitting at the table with a perfect view over the nighttime city and eating the best steak he had ever had. "Wow," he said, chewing, "this is really good."

A genuinely happy smile showed on her face. "Thank you. I'm glad. It's the one thing I really know how to cook. I fail at mostly everything else." She was once again talking very quickly. "I am the worst homemaker ever. I hate cleaning, with a passion. But since I had to fire Rosa today and I am not sure I'll trust anybody after the stunt she pulled, I will have to give it a try." She looked at him with honest hurt in her eyes. "Rosa worked for me for two years! She showed me pictures of her children and invited me to her son's big break as a broccoli in the last school play. How could-" Again she stopped talking. Instead, she reached for her wine glass. "I'm sorry. I honestly never believed she would do what she did today."

Oliver swallowed a mouth full of steak. "That's what people do: betray you."

Felicity let the glass sink. The look on her face caused Oliver to avoid her eyes and concentrate on his plate. He had just filled his mouth with potato, when Felicity spoke up, her voice soft. "I have a hard time trusting people, too, but that's a really drastic conclusion to come to." She set her glass down and reached for her fork. "But I guess after five difficult years, it's okay to be drastic."

Chewing, he looked at her: how she sat there in a black-and-white blouse with her hair pulled into a high ponytail. He saw the marks he had left on her neck, and he wondered how she could just sit there, eat with him after everything he had done to her. He wondered how she could not have come to the same drastic conclusion after everything that she'd obviously had to endure. How could she be like that and treat him like that, when he was basically the root of everything evil that had happened to her? He swallowed.

"I heard you had five difficult years yourself."

Her eyes snapped to him. She visibly stiffened, then relaxed.

"Yes," she admitted. "It wasn't easy." Oliver could practically see her pulling herself together, steeling herself, while she set the fork and the knife down. He saw determination on her face when she looked up again and met his eyes. "There are some things you need to know."

Slowly, he nodded and decided to just make it easier for her. "I already do know some things: I know you were pregnant with my baby. I know that you lost him."

"Yes," she whispered. "I lost him. That's the short summary of everything."

"Tell me the long story." It was a gentle request. "I'd like to know everything."

She looked at him for a moment, before she started talking. "When I found out that I was pregnant, I freaked. Obviously. I was barely 20. I still had two more years at MIT, I was there on a scholarship and I had absolutely no money. My family is classic white trash and I tried to get out of there, tried to get a good education."

"You contemplated abortion," he concluded. "I understand that."

"I thought about it, yes." Her voice coating more and more with each word, she said, "but the first ultrasound and – bang! I fell in love." Tears collected in her eyes and she stopped talking. Slowly she blew air out between her lips, collected herself, blinked the tears away. "Sorry," she said then. "I didn't expect it to be this hard. Five years, one would think I would have come to terms with it."

He just dared to give her a small smile, tried to send her silent encouragement, because he didn't know what to say, because he felt his own heart turning unexpectedly heavy.

"Anyway. Our drunken wedding was a big story. Paparazzi followed me everywhere and your mother contacted me," she said, adding an explaining, "Damage control." Oliver nodded. Yes, his mother had always been good at that. "So, when I decided to have the baby, I informed her, because... I wanted that baby to have a future, a good one, a better than one than I could offer if I dropped out of college and went back to Las Vegas. And your mother... I think the idea that a little something of you had survived was comforting to her."

Oliver swallowed heavily once again, willing unwanted emotions to stay inside. To hide his uneasiness, he went back to eating.

Felicity, on the other hand, ignored her food. She continued talking – and Oliver noticed that for once she wasn't talking quickly, wasn't rushing out the words. She was taking her time to tell him this, even if her next words were, "To make it short: I signed a contract. It was all legal mumbo jumbo that boiled down to the facts that your family supported me and the child financially, that I had guardianship, but I had to move to Starling. Your mother wanted visitation rights, stuff like that. And I had to stay a Queen; the baby had to be a Queen. Your mother gave a long interview about how we were in love before drunkenly marrying in Vegas... It was a very elaborate, carefully crafted web of lies that made us seem like we were much more than we really were. She also hinted that Sara might have snuck onto the boat without your knowledge." Her voice was even as she stated, "I think this is a good point to mention that Laurel hates my guts."

Oliver forked the last piece of steak. "Yes, that has come to my attention."

Felicity frowned. "How?"

"I think my main clue was when I met Laurel this morning and she called you a soulless slut."

"Yes," Felicity nodded, "that sounds about right." A deep sigh left her lips. "I know she has every right to be angry, but, seriously, that woman..." She shook her head and looked at him with said eyes. "I'm stalling," she admitted then, "because all of this doesn't really matter. What matters is the baby and..." Again, she exhaled slowly, calming herself down. She looked past him, toward the window, when she spoke up again. "He had a heart-condition. I knew that; there was tiny holes in his heart, the doctor here in Starling, who was encouraged to a very thorough examination by your mother's money, found it pretty early on. But he said that it wasn't uncommon, that it was nothing to worry about, that everything was fine and..." She broke off and now she looked at him when she said, "No matter what he said, it wasn't fine. His heart stopped beating. Just like that." Her eyes were swimming in tears again, but this time she continued talking. "I knew something was wrong, because he was always very active – I could always feel him moving – but then he just stopped." The first tear slipped out of her eye. "He died, inside me." More tears followed. "My son. Our son."

Following a sudden impulse, Oliver reached across the table for her hand, squeezing it in silent comfort. She tightened her hand, too. Oliver took her in, how she sat there, and his heart just broke for her, for the hurt she had experienced, was still experiencing. And the way she told him about it, he felt an unexpected sadness claim him, too. She had said it, the s-word, had called the baby "our son." She had made the loss mutual, and part of him wished he had shared it with her, more than hearing the story five years later.

Tears were still gliding down her cheeks, taking her mascara with them. She wiped them away before she met his eyes. "I called him Jonas."

"I know," Oliver whispered and was surprised by the emotion audible in his voice. "Thea showed me the grave today."

"She did?"

"Don't be mad at her. She wanted to show me that you're a good person to let in."

"I'm not mad," Felicity said, "just surprised. I haven't really talked to Thea in years."

"I know. She's embarrassed about that, about how she stopped calling."

"Still? Really? I told her it was fine to distance herself from me—I was toxic back then."

Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her hand. "Tell me what happened next."

"They induced contractions and I gave birth to him."

His breath hitched in his throat. "You gave birth to our dead son?"

"I did. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't leave him where he was," she said, calmly.

Of course. Sure. Now that she said it, it was logical; he just hadn't contemplated it before.

For the first time since she had started her tale, she smiled. "He was beautiful. Tiny, really tiny. I got to hold him, shortly, but then they took him away. Your mother was with me. And that day, she was great. Really, she was. She held him, too."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," she said softly, "I'm sorry, too. You have so much to process as it is, coming back here, returning from the dead. And I'm only piling on more weight." She cleared her throat, her voice was stronger when she continued, "I just need you to know that I loved Jonas. I loved our son. I wanted him to be in my life more than anything. I need you to believe me that that is the truth."

He could see it in her eyes; he could see how important this was to her. "I believe you," he assured her and he really meant it. He didn't know much about her, but he knew that she wasn't that good of a liar.

Relief rolled off her as she heard his affirmation. She seemed a little more relaxed now, dared another smile. "Thank you." He was about to tell her that there was no need to thank him, when she said, "Because most people believe that I had an abortion. I guess it's even more drama than a stillborn baby... An abortion in the 27th week. That's too crazy. Nobody should believe that. Strangely, nearly everybody did."

His eyes traveled over the woman he was legally married to. Her eyes were slightly reddened, surrounded by traces of smeared mascara, but the tears had dried. Her face was relaxed. He could feel her sadness, but it wasn't loud or fresh or prominent. Her loss, he understood, was part of her, she had grown used to it, and normally she probably didn't share it with anybody. Especially, since people didn't believe her to have lost anything at all. He looked at her and was very serious when he said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," she accepted his try at comfort, before she sighed. "I will just make it quick, okay? I had signed that contract and your mother had told all those lies, which meant that I had to keep going, keep being a Queen. I went back to MIT, got my undergraduate degree and Walter helped me start my own business. The image of being a cold-hearted bitch does come handy in the corporate world, though."

"I can imagine."

"So, those were the last five years of my life in a nutshell."

"Doesn't sound like a walk in the park."

"From what I saw last night, you didn't spent the last five years on some deserted beach chilling in the sun, either."

All this time his hand had rested on hers, but now he quickly broke contact. He stiffened in his seat.

"Sorry," Felicity said quickly. "That came out wrong."

"No, it's the truth. There was very little chilling in the last years." She looked at him with compassion, and he remembered his sister's haunting words that he had to let somebody in.

"The island wasn't deserted, was it?"

Shocked, he stared at her. Her question that was filled with so much certainty hit him completely unexpected. It was like it slapped him in the face. "Why would you ask that?"

"Your scars. They don't look like animals attacked you." She looked at him for a moment, before she sank back in her seat. "I'm sorry. It's okay, if you don't want to talk about it. Really, it is."

"I wasn't alone on the island." It was more than he had planned on telling her. He was letting her in further than he had originally wanted to, but now that the words left his lips, it was strangely freeing to admit it. It made him want to say more. "There were soldiers on it, too. They tortured me. That's why I have the scars."

Hearing this, she sat up straight again and tensed. "Tortured you?" He could hear the confusion in her voice, the absolute non-understanding of what he was saying. She sounded honestly taken aback and at a loss when she asked, "Why would somebody do that?" He found that question and her honest consternation strangely comforting. She looked at him, her blue eyes a little bigger than they usually were. "I don't know what to say. I feel like I should say something insightful or... just comforting, but all I can think of is: How awful! I'm so sorry! I wish you didn't have to experience that."

An honest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a moment. "Since I only came up with an 'I'm sorry' when you told me about your previous five years, I will just take it and say 'thank you'."

"It's hard to find words for what you must have gone through."

"Yes," he nodded, "the same is true for you."

"Why did they—"

Noticing the look that crossed his face and interpreting it correctly, she stopped talking instantly. He was grateful for that, because he had already revealed too much with those four sentences, more than he had ever planned on telling anybody.

"You don't want to say any more about it," she said, her voice soft.

"Maybe some other time."

"I'm always willing to listen."

"I will get back to that." He hesitated before saying, "I would appreciate it, if this stayed between us."

"Of course!" She hurried to assure him. "Nothing that was said will leave this room. And nothing that was done will leave my bedroom." She flinched as she heard her words. "That came out wrong."

He understood what she was referring to and nodded. "I appreciate that. Last night—"

"It's okay, Oliver, really. Especially, after what you just told me. It's fine. I bought new scarfs and turtle necks today. Fashion bloggers will be baffled by Felicity Queen's new style."

She was trying to lighten the mood, he knew. It was another thing he appreciated about her. "Well, I have to say that this was the most intense dinner conversation I've had, ever. But it was strangely nice."

"Yes. I'm relieved that I got to tell you my version. Thank God there was no internet connection where you were or you would have had a very bad impression of me."

"Oh the blessings of being away from Google."

She chuckled, before she reached for her wineglass again, and Oliver noticed that she had barely eaten anything, but he didn't get to comment on it before she asked, "Did you find a new place, like you wanted?"

"No," he admitted. "I got sidetracked."

"You can stay here as long as you want."

"That's a very nice offer, but I couldn't stay here after last night. Not after what happened. I'll rent a hotel room."

"Oliver—" she started, but stopped objecting. "You know what? If that's what feels right to you, do that. But please know that my offer stands from here until whenever. Take it up at any time you want. I will go and buy a bed for the guest room tomorrow in any case."

"Felicity," he smiled, "you are remarkable."

She did, too. "Thank you for remarking that."

"It's good to know that even during the time in my life when I was acting the most stupid, I was smart enough to choose you as my drunken wife."

Now she laughed. It was a wonderful sound. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard somebody laugh so genuinely. In the last five years nobody had laughed like that in his presence. It warmed another part in him that had been ice cold. Her eyes shining with amusement, she looked at him. "What were we thinking that night? Seriously, it was such a dumbass stunt."

"Oh, I know perfectly what I was thinking. I thought you were unbelievably hot."

She laughed again. "No, you didn't."

He was dead serious. "Oh, believe me. I did."

The laughter died on her lips and he knew that what he had said seemed completely foreign to her and it obviously left her uneasy. The fact that she clearly didn't know how beautiful she was was part of what made her even more beautiful. It had been part of what had made her so hot even back in Las Vegas. Suddenly, he realized what he was thinking and chided himself for letting this happen. He had no time for such distractions! It was time to change topics. "I know we have to talk about our situation, but can we schedule another date to discuss divorce? I'm really exhausted and I think discussing two awkward topics are enough for one dinner."

"Yes," she agreed. "We can leave that for the next intense dinner conversation."

"Great," he said, surprised by the teasing he heard in his own voice, "something to look forward to." Nearly reluctantly he added, getting up from his chair, "I should get going." He really had to, he had to get to Hunt.

She rose from her seat as well. They looked at each other and silently agreeing on the next logical action to both of them. They hugged. It was a friendly hug and it felt right and natural to share it right in this moment.

When they let go again, Felicity's eyes met his. "You are a good guy, Oliver Queen. I'm sorry I called you an asshole during our awkward morning after."

"Don't apologize. Back then I was an asshole. And not going on that yacht with me was the best decision you ever made."

"Yes, I must admit that I did thank my lucky stars, when I first heard the news. And I must admit that I'm thanking my lucky stars again right now." She flinched. "Is it okay to say that?"

"I would worry if you wished you'd been stranded on an island with me and torturing soldiers."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound desirable." Her eyes were still connected to his and he could see that she was dead serious about what she said next, "But you survived it, Oliver. That's all that matters. You made it through those five years and now you're back. You still have so much life ahead of you. This can be a new beginning."

"Yes," Oliver nodded. "That's a really nice way to look at it."


	6. Chapter 5

Posting with a Christmas buzz is a bad idea – the time I just needed to type this, then go and correct all the mistakes is worrisome – so let me make this short: Merry Christmas to all of you amazing people. I hope you had/have wonderful holidays!

All my love to all of you, but especially to the people who took the time to send me review-love. Feel the love right back: **misspsycho24**, **emilyhotchner-olicity-bethy**, **mel1804**, **keelsxoxo**, **sakura-blossom62**, **Gin2a**, **Bunney**, **highlander348**, **KylieCullenSummers**, **thekiller00**, **FaberryBRA**, **Evanscope**, **lateVMlover**, **Erika . Cade**, **SmoakingQueen**, **salazarjasam**, **scorpio38457**, **Moo Chapman**, **nrdhrd3**,** shellybeee**, **schrooten5**, **WearRedTonight**, **Jen**, **Ini**, **ForeverLoveAlways**, **Yuyu07**,** bellapaige88**, **IzzyBella1897**, **NCISRookie33**, **lovelove94**, **CaRiNeSs**, **Mystic4 Gohan** and a guest. (I apologize for any spelling errors and blame it on the red wine.)

Again: Merry Christmas!

* * *

><p><strong>October 12<strong>**th**** 2012**

Seeing the look in Adam Hunt's eyes as he stared up the bow pointed at his heart had been gratifying. The man was a coward, hiding behind brutes with muscles that did the dirty work for him. If Hunt was unable to bribe somebody, they would threat this person into submission. But Oliver had shown them their limits. He had shown what it was like to fight somebody who knew what he was doing.

After the intense but strangely nice dinner with Felicity, he had needed to untie the emotional knot that had built inside him. Confronting Adam Hunt in the basement garage had done the trick perfectly. This man needed to be taught a lesson.

If he had learned it, Oliver would find out tonight.

Tonight, he would cross the first name of the list his father had given him. Oliver would make sure of it. It was a very long list, full of Starling City's finest, who had built their wealth on the backs of other people, full of people Oliver had to deal with in some way. It was a task that would take time and dedication, something that wasn't achieved overnight. Oliver knew, but he had made a promise—and he would keep it. Nothing would distract him from his goal.

Nothing. Even though, yesterday he had realized that he couldn't just cut his family off. His talk with Thea had showed him that he couldn't just do as he pleased anymore; he needed to consider them.

Because if he ignored them now, he might as well never have come back to them at all.

For a while he had contemplated just sneaking back to Starling City, without anybody knowing. Part of him believed that they were better off not knowing he was still alive. It would have been easier for everybody, if they just believed him to be dead and remembered the Ollie he was before the _Queen's Gambit_ sank. It would be easier for him, if they never saw who he had become.

But he hadn't been able to do that. He had missed them in the five years he had been gone. He had thought about his mother and Thea a lot. He had needed to see them.

His talk with Felicity had proven to him that he had made the right decision. Because it showed him that he wasn't the only one dealing with the events following his disappearance. Oliver knew that his mother and his sister had suffered, too, and he needed to be with them, or his father's sacrifice was in vain.

He had decided to visit the mansion, maybe have breakfast with his mother and his sister, but his plan went out the window when the front door opened just as he was heading toward it. His mother and her new husband stepped out, followed by a huge black man. "Oliver, sweetheart," his mother smiled at him. "Did you come for a visit?"

"I did. Are you heading out?"

"We're invited to brunch, I am sorry. But it's a good thing you came by; we planned on making a stop at Felicity's." She smiled and motioned for the very muscular man to step forward. "Oliver, this is John Diggle. He will be accompanying you from now on."

Stupidly, Oliver blinked at his mother. Because, really, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, the idea to reconnect with his family seemed incredibly stupid. "I don't need a babysitter."

"He is not a babysitter," Moira corrected. "He is a bodyguard. And I hired him for you."

"Mom," Oliver said, trying to mask his annoyance. "I don't need you to hire a bodyguard for me. I don't need a bodyguard, period."

Walter cleared his throat. "Darling, Oliver is a grown man. If he doesn't feel like he needs armed protection…."

But Moira wouldn't have it, she just shook her head. "I understand. But this is something _I_ need." She took a step toward her son. "We just got you back and somebody already tried to kidnap you."

Oliver knew he had lost even before she added the "Please. For me." He should have trusted his instincts and kept his distance.

* * *

><p>An inanimate object could spur an immense amount of negative feelings. If there was one person to know this, it was Felicity Queen, who had assembled her first computer when she had still been Felicity Smoak and only eleven years old. Since then, she had experienced many, many moments that had made her want to hit a monitor or trash a keyboard or kick a tower.<p>

But, still, the way Yongtak Chan hated the Particle Accelerator seemed a bit excessive.

"I tell you, it's a disaster in the making. You don't want Firestorm connected with that thing in any way."

Felicity looked at her employee number one. His looked uncommonly agitated. His black bushy hair, always neatly combed upwards and styled into an impeccable pompadour, had been mussed by one anxious hand, and another, carding through it. She had only seen him do that once, when hackers had nearly succeeded in breaching Firestorm's firewall. His disoriented dark locks told Felicity more about the seriousness of their situation than anything he'd said.

"I admit that it's not my field of expertise," Felicity admitted now, "but isn't something that can generate clean power for a whole city something we want to be connected to?"

"Theoretically."

"And practically?" Felicity asked, giving Yongtak a pointed look over the table separating them.

"Do you understand how that thing's supposed to work?"

Inwardly, Felicity cringed. "Rudimentally… at best."

"So, how are we supposed to code for something not even _you_ understand – and you are crazy smart."

"Stop that cheap flattery." Felicity looked at the master-coder opposite to her, before she sank back in her favorite purple seat. "I wanted this to be a good idea. I wanted this to be the first step to Central City."

"Fe, ultimately you're the boss and you decide what we do. But you asked for my opinion, and I'm telling you: this thing is dangerous. Wells is dangerous."

That caused Felicity to sit up straight again. "What—" A knock cut her off.

She glanced toward the door, and Jerry poked his head in. "I'm sorry," her assistant apologized. "But there's a John Diggle here, who says he's your husband's bodyguard and he needs you to contact Mr. Queen ASAP." Felicity stared at Jerry blankly as she tried to sort out that sentence. Jerry nodded. "I know. But he's really scary."

Felicity sighed. "Sure, send him in." She stood. In the next moment, she was faced with a man whose muscles were seriously straining the seams of his suit. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Yongtak shamelessly check him out. Ignoring him and praying that the other man didn't notice, Felicity held her hand out. "Hello, I'm Felicity Queen."

The black man shook her hand. "John Diggle." He had a very nice voice, deep and comforting. Calm radiated from him, a laid-back aura of capability that Felicity found soothing. Now he added a small smile. "I'm your husband's bodyguard."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning. But I'm sorry to say that he jumped out of a moving car to escape me. That makes it hard for me to protect him."

"Yes, I can see how that would." Felicity looked at the man in front of her, thinking, then she stepped to the door and closed it. Only then did she turn to the huge man again. "I agree that jumping out of a moving car is…"

She was searching for a fitting adjective, when Yongtak spoke up from where he was sprawling out on his seat, "It's fucking _crass_." That caught John Diggle's attention and the programmer sent him his most winning smile. "Hello, I'm Yongtak and I wouldn't run away from you. I'd let you guard me anytime."

"Tak!" Felicity couldn't believe he had actually said that. It left Felicity so uncomfortable that she felt the need to do something. So she went to her desk, reached for her cell and called Oliver's number.

He answered after the third ring. "Felicity."

"Oliver, why are you doing dangerous stuff to get away from the man who's supposed to keep you safe?"

Silence was the first answer to the question, before Oliver came up with a "What?"

"There's a Mr. Diggle here who says you jumped out of a moving vehicle to escape him."

Again silence followed, then he sighed. "You can tell him that ratting me out to the wife is a low blow."

"I must say that I find it kinda funny, actually."

"If you find him so amusing, you can have him."

Now Felicity sighed, turning serious. "Oliver, why did you hire a bodyguard, if you ditch him first chance you get?"

"I didn't hire him, my mother did. Because of the kidnapping yesterday."

Felicity stiffened. "What kidnapping?"

"Never mind," his voice sounded like a sigh. "Can you please keep Diggle occupied? I'd really like some time alone. Aren't there any paparazzi outside your office you need protection from?"

"Oliver, if there's one thing I know how to handle, it's paparazzi. Plus, your mother hired him for you, not for me."

"You're right. What would she say, if he ended up looking after you…." There was a teasing exaggeration in his voice.

"I know what you're doing." He was addressing her inner teenager, the part of her that enjoyed rattling Moira with the most stupid and harmless stuff possible, more than she enjoyed acting her age.

"And? Is it working?"

Felicity's posture crumbled a little. "Damn it, yes."

"Thank you." Again silence settled over the conversation, and Felicity was about to end the call, when Oliver spoke up again. "Keep him occupied until tonight and bring him to the party."

"What party?"

"Tommy's throwing me a welcome home bash. Apparently, when you return from the dead you get a party."

"There are worse things to celebrate." It was the truth. Felicity and Kristina had once celebrated Channing Tatum's abs. Now that Felicity thought about it, her best friend really did have a thing for abs... But no matter how good the reason was in theory, in practice Felicity didn't think the whole thing was such a good idea. "But do you really think a party's the best thing right now? I mean..." She was choosing her words very carefully. "You just came back and you have some things to work through... A party seems counter-productive."

"Partying is what we used to do." Oliver sighed. "The party is more for Tommy than for me." He paused for a second, before he said, "I want you to go with me." It wasn't a request, it was a statement.

"Oh, no no no." Felicity shook her head in a useless gesture he couldn't see over the phone. She felt four curious eyes on her and she knew that two of them belonged to the biggest gossip queen in the office. "Hold up," she spoke into the phone, before she lifted an angry index finger and motioned between the two men in the room with her. "If one word of what I say leaves this office, I will sue you both!"

Yongtak smirked. "Oh really? Sue us for what?!"

"You?!" Her finger landed on him. "For sexual harassment!"

"You wish!" Yongtak was still grinning. "When gay guys tell women they have amazing boobs, it's a welcome compliment."

"No, it isn't. And, I'll sue you in behalf of him!" She motioned to Diggle, before she threw up the hand not holding the cellphone up. "Stop staring at his ass! You're the _worst_, really!" She then turned her attention to the bodyguard. "And I'll sue you for losing my husband."

John Diggle seemed unfazed and slightly amused. Felicity got the impression that he understood her playful threats perfectly. He crossed his arms over his chest, really testing the seams of his jacket and causing Yongtak to ogle his bicep. "I sighed a non-disclosure agreement."

"Felicity?" Oliver's voice hit her ear and she went back to the topic at hand.

"Oliver, I cannot go to this party with you because Tommy hates my guts."

"Why?"

"Because he sided with Laurel. Really, he despises me. He would freak if you brought me."

"Let him freak; it's my party."

"You said that you're mostly going to make him happy. My presence would ruin his night. Seriously, he—"

"Felicity," he cut her off, "I don't care. I'd like you to go with me."

Her brain was working overtime trying to come up with a way to discuss this without giving away that their marriage was a sham. John Diggle may have signed a non-disclosure agreement and she may consider Yongtak Chan a friend... Still, apart from her best friend, she had never told anybody about the elaborate web of lies Moira Queen had spun. And she especially wouldn't do it now that even Rosa had betrayed her trust. The falsehood of the marriage had been a secret as long as Oliver had been gone, and she didn't feel like revealing it now that he was back. Finally, she settled for the easiest way possible to ask everything she wanted to know, "Why?"

"It's a statement."

Yes, it was. Taking her to his welcome home party would send a clear message, one that she really appreciated. After everything that had happened and that the public believed to have happened, he'd be siding with her quite publicly and literally. It was his first official outing, and he wanted her by his side. He had a pretty good idea of what people believed her to be, of who _Felicity Queen_ was, but he still wanted her to be there. And all that left her only one answer.

"Okay," she said, her voice a little heavier than she wanted it to be. "Let's do this. But we need to show up there together."

"I'll come by your place at eight. Diggle can drive us. Thank you for giving me the day off."

"No problem, I'll see you at eight. Bye."

"Bye."

She ended the call and met John Diggle's eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Diggle. You're stuck protecting me today." She smirked. "I promise I won't jump out of any cars."

* * *

><p>He had needed this, this day of solitude, of being alone with his own thoughts. It had helped him regain focus. It had also been good to finally get things done. Setting up his base of operations was the first thing that needed to be accomplished.<p>

His base of operations was done. He had worked there all day. It wouldn't win any home-decor contest, but it was functional and that was all he needed it to be.

In about two hours he would have accomplished the second thing—one way or the other. Either Oliver would look at his phone and find forty million dollars on the bank account he had set up or he would cross the street and kick some ass. Tommy had been a little surprised when Oliver had suggested the Turner Building for his party, but had agreed that it was a perfect location to house that many people.

It was the only reason Oliver had agreed to go to this party anyway—it was a solid cover.

Just like bringing Felicity. If people really hated her as much as she claimed they did, they should keep their distance.

He was taking her to the lion's den, he knew. But she'd be fine, even if he had to leave. She'd have John Diggle with her. Oliver had done his research on him today and he had to give his mother that: she had chosen a very capable bodyguard. Ex-military, exemplary record, excellent with any firearm—Oliver had tried, but he could find no fault. Whatever happened tonight, Felicity would be safe with that guy.

Right then Oliver saw the bodyguard, his bodyguard that he hoped to permanently push off. John Diggle stood in the door of Felicity's apartment, watching the other man head toward him. His face was even as he greeted, "Mr. Queen."

"Diggle," Oliver said as he walked past him into the apartment, scratching the "Mister" as the former soldier had told him to do, right before Oliver had jumped out of the Bentley. He stopped and watched as Diggle closed the door. Oliver's face and voice stayed even, "You ratted me out to the wife."

The other man turned around, his features as blank as Oliver's. "And in return you made me spend the afternoon in changing rooms while she shopped for a new dress."

Now Oliver had to hide a smirk.

John Diggle's face, on the other hand, stayed completely unaffected as he looked at Oliver but called past him, "Felicity, your husband's here."

"Hey," came her voice from her bedroom down the hall. "I need another minute."

"Okay," Oliver called back, "take your time." His eyes never left the man opposite of him. "I see you're on a first name basis."

"We are, Mr. Queen."

They were sizing each other up, and Oliver couldn't help but think that his impression from the data had been correct: John Diggle knew what he was doing. Oliver motioned for the bodyguard to follow him into the living room. The huge TV hanging on the wall was turned on, a football game was playing, and Oliver couldn't help but think that it had been five years since he had seen the last one. Right then, he found that he had actually missed it. His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment, then he turned toward John Diggle, who looked at him half-curiously, half-challengingly. Oliver kept his face calm and neutral. "I need you to keep an eye on Felicity tonight."

"Sir," Diggle said, "your mother hired me to look after you."

"I know. But I can handle myself."

"Can you?"

"I can."

"So, how come you were kidnapped?"

Oliver felt annoyance rise inside him. He chose to ignore the last question and resort to a lie. "I received a threat stating that, since my kidnapping didn't work out, Felicity will be next. It might be nothing, but I need you to be prepared, just in case." He curved the corners of his mouth upwards into something that could not quite count as a smile. "After all, you two are already on a first name basis."

Not waiting for an answer, Oliver walked past his unwanted bodyguard for the bedroom. The other man believed him to be Felicity's husband. So why shouldn't he go and check on her?

She stepped out of the walk-in closet just as Oliver entered the room. It was the most normal, ordinary thing but, to Oliver, it was a memorable moment. The sight of her caught him a little unprepared in the most positive way possible. He did a mental double take as his breath hitched in his throat.

Never had he seen her like this. Her blonde hair fell in loose curls around her face. She had forgone her glasses and wore a blue dress that ended well above her knees. Her shoulders were bare, but there was no cleavage in sight as the cloth went up high to her neck. He knew that it was a strategic fashion move to hide the bruises, and that he should be appalled by this, but all he could think was that she looked breathtaking; she was so beautiful.

"Is it too out there?" she asked, making it obvious that she had no idea his heart had started beating a little quicker in the last five seconds. She accompanied the question with a turn, revealing that, while the front of her dress was very high-necked, her back was bare.

Oliver needed another few seconds to steady himself. "You look beautiful," he told her truthfully.

"It's our first outing and I wanted to look nice," she said.

Sensing how nervous she was, he assured her, "You look more than nice."

She smiled. "Thank you." She gestured toward his grey suit and white dress-shirt. "You look very handsome yourself."

"Felicity?" Diggle voice came from down the hall. "The concierge says a Kristina's in the lobby?"

Felicity rolled her eyes slightly and muttered, "I should have known." Then she raised her voice and called back, "Yes, she can come up." She placed her attention back on Oliver. "My best friend," she explained. "I bet she's here to size you up—and probably to drop a shameless comment on your abs. Just ignore it." Oliver was about to inquire about that when Felicity stepped closer to him. "She knows the truth about us," she whispered. "She's the only person I completely trust. Nobody else knows, only her."

Slowly, Oliver nodded and made a mental note to complete another background check tomorrow.

Felicity, on the other hand, turned around now and headed back to the next room while saying, "What do you think? Red shoes? Or purple, maybe?"

"What about blue ones?" Oliver asked and couldn't believe that those words had actually left his mouth.

"No," Felicity objected from the adjoining room, "that's too matchy-matchy. You need some contrast with your accessories. Matching shoes and clothes is so 2006." Felicity reemerged with a frown on her face. "But I guess you have the perfect excuse for not knowing that." Instantly, she flinched. Worry visible on her face, she asked, "Too soon? Probably. Because there most likely will never be a good time to joke about it, after—" She stopped herself. "I'm sorry."

The corners of Oliver's mouth curved upwards into something that could only be called a real smile, even if it was a small one. "Don't be. It really wasn't a very fashionable island."

"Thank God," Felicity said as she slipped red high heels on. "That would give the term 'fashion victims' a whole different meaning."

Oliver didn't react to that as he felt somebody appear behind him. His eyes landed on a very pretty woman with dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. She was wearing blue jeans, a black shirt and sneakers, seemingly a contrast to Felicity in every way. She also wore a big and open smile as she said, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Again, Felicity rolled her eyes. "No, Tina, you're not." She motioned between the two other people in the room and said, "Oliver, that's my best friend Kristina. Kristina, that's Oliver."

The smile was still on Kristina's face. "Well, hello, Oliver. It's nice to finally meet you. Because now I can thank you: your habit of randomly raising your shirt to show off your abs is a quality that's too rare in men."

Oliver just stared at her and realized that he had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He chose to do as Felicity had suggested and ignore it.

Kristina obviously didn't expect an answer. She took a few more steps toward her friend and sized her up. "Wow, hon, that dress is amazing. The pictures you sent me don't do it justice."

Felicity started. "You think it photographs poorly? Because I have nothing else to wear, I—"

"Relax, honey." Kristina smiled. "Breathe. You look beautiful." She looked at Oliver. "Tell her how beautiful she looks."

"I already did," Oliver clarified, but he chose to do as he was told anyway. "You look very beautiful."

Amused, Felicity shook her head and smiled at him. Oliver couldn't help but think that she truly was a beautiful sight, especially with that smile. Kristina's eyes were still traveling up and down the outfit. "You should add a bracelet. But not the silver one you bought last week."

"Why not?"

"Because I was hoping to borrow it. I organized myself a date tomorrow."

"I can't wear my bracelet, because you have a date?" Felicity asked and Oliver sensed that it was playful objection.

"It's a date with a doctor. A surgeon."

"Didn't you tell me that all surgeons were sluts?"

"I intend to test that theory." The grin that appeared on Kristina's face could only be called shameless, Oliver thought. Then she motioned toward Oliver. "It's not like you could score anybody with your hubby by your side, anyway. But I need all the help I can get."

Again, there was teasing in Felicity's voice as she said, "You're the worst." She headed back to the walk-in closet.

Oliver watched her leave and when he turned back around, Kristina had moved into his personal space. Quietly she said, "Listen, buddy. Felicity has finally started to be in a good place. She went through hell in the last five years and I know it's not really your fault, but if you don't treat her right, I will kick your ass." Her voice was harsh, her eyes were stony. "I know it's a very cliché thing to say, but you should take me seriously. I work in a hospital, I know how to make it look like natural causes."

Then she took a step backward and smiled toward the door where Felicity was appearing to hand her friend a silver bracelet. "Here, I want to hear details about your date."

"Thank you. I will keep you informed. And now I will let you get to your 'yay, I'm not dead'-bash." Her eyes landed on Oliver. She took another step backward and really studied the two of them. Her voice lilted in amusement when she said, "Hell, you two will turn some heads tonight. Don't you dare complain about any paparazzi or gossip increase in the next days, because you brought it onto yourselves!" She winked. "Have fun, you two crazy kids."


	7. Chapter 6

I feel like this is the perfect chapter to post today: what could be better for New Years's Eve than a party!

The continuous, positive feedback you're sending my way is really amazing. Everybody who's following this story, who added it as a favorite: thank you so much. The biggest cyber-hug possible goes to all the wonderfully amazing people who took the time to leave a review. I am really thankful! My sincerest gratitude to: **sakura-blossom62**, **ChiefPam**, **THE Nick' Amaral**, **thekiller00**, **keelsxoxo**, **Moo Chapman**, **misspsycho24**, **bellapaige88**, **emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl**, **NorthernLights25**, **cruzstar**, **lovelove94**, **FaberryBRA**,** Gin2a**, **KylieCullenSummers**, **lateVMlover**, **Bunney**, **nrdhrd3**, **live-in-dreamland1**, **WearRedTonight**, **MythStar Black Dragon**, **SmoakingQueen**, **salazarjasam**, **Yuyu07**, **schrooten5**, **CaRiNeSs**, **NCISprobette**, **sortofbored**, **farmgirl1964**, **Jen** (since I can't PM you, please know that I love your comment whole heartedly), **Dark Alana**, **scorpio38457** and the guests who left me a note. That a big hug of awesome if you ask me.

That being said, I hope you wonderful readers all have fun on this last night of 2014 however you're spending it. I'm looking forward to really get this story going in 2015 and I wish you nothing but the best for the upcoming year! Much love, Jules

Dedicated to **Albiona**—friend, beta, one person support-group, and biggest sweetheart ever.

* * *

><p><strong>October 12<strong>**th**** 2012**

Felicity needed that car ride to become Felicity Queen.

It was like a character she slipped into, like a mask she pulled on that was invisible to everybody else. Felicity Queen was the uncaring, unaffected, hardened version of herself. She was the front she put up, the barriers she erected to keep people at arms length and herself from being hurt. She had perfected the act in the past few years. And when the Bentley stopped at the cheesy red carpet Tommy had rolled out, she was ready.

Oliver was already standing on the red carpet, the flashlights of the photographers washing over him, holding his hand out to help her from the car. As she strategically turned in her seat, so that she could get out of the car without flashing everybody or wobbling on her purple very high heels, their eyes met. She saw recognition in his, a realization that he shouldn't expect a smile of thanks from her right now. Not from Felicity Queen. He sent her the barest nod, and Felicity felt an unspoken understanding that gave her strength, that even hardened her ability to pretend.

Felicity guessed it was true what they said: it took one to know one.

Because Felicity knew that he was as good at pretending as she was—if not better. She had seen glimpses of the real him, a softer, more caring, very lost side of him, but he mostly kept that so well hidden.

The photographers yelled at them. The men shouted for them to look here and there, to turn left, right. They didn't stop long, only a few seconds, but Felicity knew that it was long enough. When she had signed the contract with the Queen family, she had trained with a professional, who had told her how to pose and stand and walk and keep her face to look her best in pictures. The fact that you could actually make a living out of that still baffled Felicity, but she had to admit that it had helped her. It had given her confidence to face the uncounted paparazzi she had encountered ever since.

She was sure that Oliver never had such training. He was probably so photogenic naturally—the jerk.

His hand rested on her back, slipped to her waist beneath the dress and it seemed to her like the flashes from the cameras increased even more. She felt his fingers on her naked skin. It was nothing, the most harmless touch, but it reminded Felicity that it had been too long since a man had touched her like that.

It was a relief to be inside, away from the photographers, but Felicity didn't feel like relaxing. She knew from experience to never let her guard down in public. As soon as you stepped outside your home, you were exposed to judging stares and camera phones and people thinking the worst of you—and never had Felicity felt as exposed as she did right now, with Oliver Queen by her side. Kristina had been right: this was gossip gold. But now was the time to own up to it.

"You're really good at this," Oliver whispered, leaning toward her.

"Practice," she whispered back. "Plus, your mother made me take a seminar."

For a second he looked like he wanted to laugh at a joke, but then he saw the seriousness in her eyes. He dimly shook his head, but said nothing. The music was getting louder with every step they took. His hand left her back as they started down the stairs and slipped into her hand. He squeezed it in silent comfort. It was a nice gesture that showed her that he at least could imagine that she was uneasy and nervous. She squeezed back, giving some reassurance back to him, while she made sure that her face stayed even.

Her eyes travelled over the dancing people having a good time at the bottom of the stairs and across the floor of the venue. She found Tommy standing by the bar, watching them. Instantly, she knew she had been right before: he was not happy. Felicity's reaction was to straighten up even more.

Tommy's response was to glue a smile onto his face. It was typical, Felicity thought: he always smiled things away, ignored them while he looked like he was enjoying himself. With a quick gesture to the DJ, he made the music stop. Felicity felt Oliver's grip on her hand tighten and for once she was sure that it was a subconscious reaction. She glanced at him and could practically seem him forcing his lips, which had suddenly pressed tightly together, to loosen. She watched Tommy race up the stairs, yelling, "Hey, everybody, HEY!" Once again Felicity couldn't help but wonder, what on earth made Tommy Merlyn believe that any of that was a good idea?

The crowd hung on Tommy Merlyn's lips. He was a handsome billionaire and he told them to pay attention, so they paid attention as he yelled, "Man-of-the-HOUR!" They cheered in excitement as Tommy expected them to do. He moved to Oliver and hugged his best friend, who returned the hug—a little half-assed, if you asked Felicity. Oliver had let go of her hand, and Felicity kept from clapping or joining in the cheer that came from the crowd, because that wasn't Felicity Queen's style.

The two men let go of each other and it was Tommy turning back to the crowd. "Let's give this man a proper HOMECOMING!"

More cheering followed and the music set back in. Queen's "We are the champions" rang though the huge hall and Felicity couldn't help but think that this musical choice was typical Tommy Merlyn—it couldn't get cheesier or more cliché than that!

Reaching for Felicity's hand again, Oliver walked down the last stairs with her by his side. Oliver sent her a quick glance and she nodded. They both knew what Tommy wanted Oliver to do. The round pedestal in the middle couldn't be missed. There was no way in hell Felicity would get up onto that thing. Now it was her letting go of his hand. She headed toward the bar as Oliver climbed the round platform, Freddy Mercury still singing. Oliver spread his arms, accepting the jubilation of the crowd. It was a bold gesture, Felicity thought, and decided that it was a good choice to go with cocky show-off. It was very expected, and it worked.

"Ollie, Ollie, Ollie!" Tommy called now as he headed toward Oliver with a pretty woman by his side, who was carrying a tray filled with shot glasses.

That was the moment Felicity realized that her best friend was a genius: because, really, this was proof that the one percent really did put appearance over common sense. Tommy Merlyn shouldn't be serious about any of that, but Felicity knew that he was. He believed himself to be doing a good thing for his friend.

Felicity felt many female eyes on her. Yeah, she guessed, those girls had expected Oliver Queen's homecoming to play out entirely differently. Ignoring the hostile glances, she looked at Oliver standing tall above the crowd. "Thank you very much, everybody!" he said now and Felicity couldn't help but feel like he was searching for something, anything to say next. Instead, he simply raised his glass and shouted, "I missed Tequila."

As the mostly female crowd broke into another round of cheers, Felicity felt admiration and sadness mix within her. It was a weird combination, but it felt adequate. Oliver really was the master at keeping up appearances. He was a man who had survived five years and its terrors had left visible, gruesome marks on his body. He had come back home with nightmares and more baggage than could fit into one green box, but still he stood there, raised his glass, and made it sound like his biggest problem while away had been the lack of partying. That he was able to do that so perfectly was admirable—especially since she knew all the effort it took to keep such a façade up. But it was also incredibly sad that he had to do this, had to pretend, and that all of this was the doing of the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

She watched Oliver down his shot and the music switched to some party tune again. Oliver jumped down the pedestal and grabbed two more shot glasses from the tray the girl next to Tommy offered. Felicity turned toward Oliver as he handed her a shot glass. Leaning in to her ear, he whispered, "It's really been some time since I had Tequila."

Their eyes met and Felicity knew what he was talking about. She remembered the shots they did together in Las Vegas, the salt she had licked from his index finger. It had been such a bold move for Felicity Smoak, who had felt so wild and sexy in that moment—much more wild and sexy than she had been, Felicity Queen knew. Right as the memory of what he was referring to entered her mind, she couldn't keep a smile out of her face. She took the glass Oliver offered her and, looking into his eyes, clicked glasses with him. Throwing their heads back, they emptied their glasses. Swallowing, they looked at each other. It was a weird moment right in the middle of all these people, a weird but good moment. It fit the strange connection they had perfectly and Felicity dared to let herself enjoy it, that vague feeling of forming a team with him in the midst of all these strangers, who had no clue who they really were.

It was more intoxicating than the Tequila.

It didn't last long. Because Tommy Merlyn had to come and fuck it up. "Seriously, you had to bring her!"

Felicity kept from giving Oliver an "I told you so." Instead, she set the shot glass down onto the bar. As she turned around she saw John Diggle take position in the background.

Oliver's voice was even as he said, "Of course, I had to bring her to my homecoming bash. She's my wife."

For once Tommy's happy façade slipped. "We both know she isn't."

"You of all people should know that she is. You were my best man!"

The two friends looked at each other and Felicity hated that she felt bad for the tension vibrating between them. She fought down the urge to say something and ease the atmosphere, because that was another thing that Felicity Queen didn't do.

"Man," Tommy said now, "you don't have to live your mother's lies."

Oliver looked at him evenly. "I don't. Felicity and I are simply figuring out what we are."

Really? Were they? Hearing that, Felicity had to fight to keep her face from slipping. Part of her wanted to tell them that she could hear them, that she was standing right next to them and that it was really impolite to talk about her as if she wasn't there. But she really didn't want to get in the middle of that, of those two men who had been friends since kindergarten, but who needed to realize that five years stood between them and that they couldn't just continue where they had left off.

Tommy glared at Oliver, who tried another one of those awful, fake smiles. "Tommy, relax," he glanced around quickly. "It's a great party. I feel like dancing." He looked at Felicity and held out his hand. "Wanna dance?"

This caught her completely by surprise, but she agreed that getting away from this conversation was a good thing. She took his offered hand and let him lead the way.

The first notes of a song you hadn't been able to escape for weeks rang through the huge room and Felicity knew that Rihanna was about to sing about diamonds in the sky. Strangely, Felicity couldn't help but think that she shouldn't dance to this song she had to officially hate, because her best friend was very anti-Rihanna for very dubious reasons that involved a bad date, bad shrimp, and a red umbrella. But those thoughts fled from Felicity's mind as Oliver reached for her.

He was a good dancer. Felicity was more awkward than fit the image of Felicity Queen, but she managed to follow his lead and found herself relaxing more and more. It was also Oliver's hands calming her and she found that she was actually enjoying herself. They danced for a couple of songs, before Oliver gestured for them to leave the dance floor again.

Together, they headed back to the bar. Oliver leaned over and shouted his order at the bartender—the music had turned even louder now. Felicity leaned back against the heavy wood and let her eyes travel over the crowd, only to land on Thea. She watched her until Oliver held a glass out to her. The red liquid at the bottom meeting yellow at the top made it clear that he had ordered her a Tequila Sunrise. In his other hand he had a small cubed glass with what looked like Scotch—a weird choice at a party like this, Felicity thought. Slowly, Felicity took the drink he offered her. Leaning in to him, she shouted over the music, "I really shouldn't drink this, I need to keep a clear head."

"Then just hold it," he winked at her. "That's what I plan to do with mine. I just downed two shots of Tequila after all."

She looked at him and held her glass out to him. They clinked the rims again and Felicity took the smallest sip.

She was about to say something when she realized that Oliver was looking at somebody past her. She glanced around and saw Tommy Merlyn, accompanied by Laurel Lance, walking toward them. Without really thinking about it, Felicity moved to stand next to Oliver and reached for his hand. When she realized what she had just done, she wanted to slap herself, but she was in character and she was unaffected and she was fucking Felicity Queen and she forced herself to loosen the grip on Oliver's hand.

The party was going on around them, the music was blaring, the people were dancing and drinking, flirting—and Felicity knew that they were watching them. As inconspicuous as possible, they were glancing at the four people who stood by the bar, the two couples opposing each other, male and female on each side. Felicity could feel the curious eyes, but she wouldn't take her own off Laurel. Only once before had they stood this close to one another—and that hadn't been pretty.

"If I had known that you'd bring her, I would've declined Tommy's invitation," Laurel said now, yelling over the loud music. It was the worst way to have this conversation.

It was an impolite thing for Laurel to say, but it wasn't as rude as expected. Felicity Queen smiled a cold smile. "Laurel, it's always a pleasure to see you."

"Shut it!" She glared at Felicity, who acted perfectly unaffected. "I'm only here because Tommy reminded me that we," she sent Felicity a look, "that's excluding slutty company, of course," she placed her attention back on Oliver, "have too many years between us to leave things like we did."

Oh, Tommy had reminded her. Felicity looked at the billionaire boy opposite of her and fixated her eyes on him. He avoided her glare, ignoring her unspoken dare to go and tell his alleged best friend the truth, why he wanted these two to make up.

"Laurel," Oliver stated now, speaking loudly, his face still even. "We don't have to talk about this. Like this."

"But I'd like to talk about some stuff," Laurel said, pointedly ignoring Felicity. "Is there someplace quieter we could go?"

Felicity felt Oliver stiffen slightly next to her and she didn't know how to place that reaction. She felt a slight pang that she really wished wouldn't be there. But her mask was firmly in place, and right in that moment she noticed somebody out of the corners of her eye again that gave her the perfect excuse to get away from this awkward situation. She turned to Oliver and motioned behind herself. "I'll go and have a little chat with Thea."

Oliver eyes snapped behind Felicity and narrowed instantly. His body tensed up even more.

"I'll handle it," Felicity said and noticed the confused glances Tommy and Laurel shared.

"I'll make it quick," was Oliver's answer. Felicity knew that she shouldn't celebrate this sentence as much as she did, but she couldn't help it. They shared another quick glance before Felicity nodded shortly. She sent Laurel a pointed look and left without another word.

Her heart was beating heavily as she walked through the crowd, which parted for her as if she was Moses and they were the Red Sea. It was all about appearance, all about seeming calm and collected and keeping her cool, but somehow her normally strong resolution was rattled. Still, there was no way she would let any of these people notice that!

"Thea!" she greeted the younger girl.

The brunette smiled. "Felicity! Oliver's party is so sick."

"Yeah," Felicity answered, sarcasm audible in each word. "It's the sickest."

Thea glanced around. "Where is Ollie?"

"Discussing stuff with Laurel."

Thea stared at her sister-in-law, "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"That sucks, doesn't it?"

"Let's just say many people noticed and the gossip won't be pleasant. But at least it kept people distracted from the fact that you just very openly invited Molly to the party." Thea blinked stupidly, caught by surprise. Felicity took another step toward the teenager. "You're on probation, Thea. If they catch you with this shit, no expensive lawyer will be able to talk your way out of jail time."

Thea's normally gentle eyes turned hard. "You don't get to judge me."

Felicity realized that Thea had already taken something. When sober, the girl was never this aggressive or defensive. Felicity searched her face and found heavily dilated pupils. "I'm not judging you," she said, trying to calm her down.

But she didn't get to say anything else when Thea gestured to the Tequila Sunrise that was still in her hand. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do—especially not you. You might be good at keeping up appearances, but I can't do that." The fact that Thea was smiling while talking, leaning into her to make sure Felicity heard her over the music without being overheard, was foiling the younger girl's claim not to be good at faking it. She was faking it like a pro right now, making it seem like they were having a friendly chat. "You all act like the last five years never happened, but they did happen. They are always with me, kinda like permanently in me and I'm _sorry_ you don't approve that I can't put on an uncaring mask. I'm sorry that I obviously turned into a disappointment for all of you, but this here is me working with what I have."

"Thea, you know that—"

"Spare yourself whatever you want to say," Thea said. "We're not friends. We're barely even family."

Thea was about to turn around and leave, but Felicity's hand closed around her arm. Squeezing hard, she kept the girl in place. "Oh, believe me, Thea, there were many moments when I wished that we weren't family, but whatever you want to call our strange thing we are connected and I care about you."

"Oh, you do?"

"I do." Felicity eased her grip. "And I'm not judging you. I'm just asking you to not add anything to what you've already taken. Throw Molly away and just enjoy the high you're on now." It wasn't the most politically correct thing to say, Felicity knew. But Felicity also knew Thea's temper when she was high, she also knew about a nearly fatal overdose the public had luckily never found out about—and she decided that, maybe, it was just best to keep an eye on her and to keep her from adding more to the drugs that were already circulating through her system. Felicity tried a small smile, the first real one and said, "I know I don't have the right to ask you for anything, but Oliver's somewhere talking to Laurel and if you leave me standing here, I will be the miserable bitch abandoned at a party and that's just brutal. Please, ten minutes of dancing and you can storm off angrily."

Thoughtfully, Thea stared at her, then she reached into her purse and let a little plastic envelope drop to the floor. She smirked widely, suddenly excited. "Let's show these bitches how to party like two Queens!" Thea linked her arm with Felicity and led her onto the dance floor, while mouthing along with Sia who was claiming to be "Titanium" in nearly deafening volume.

The negotiated ten minutes turned into twenty and then thirty. Thea was obviously riding her high and Felicity had to admit that she had given in to her own temptation and had, stupidly, emptied her Tequila Sunrise. "I didn't know you liked those," Thea shouted now over the music, gesturing to her empty glass.

"I haven't had one in five years," Felicity admitted.

The confession caused Thea to smile. "Since you last met Ollie, you mean."

A certain hopeful excitement suddenly surrounded Thea, catching Felicity by surprise. She was about to say something to the younger girl, when suddenly armed men stormed down the huge stairs.

"Oh shit!" was Thea's first reaction as she realized that those man spreading out in the room were policeman. Felicity reached for Thea's arm and pulled her off the dance floor. "Wait here. Don't move, take out your cellphone and act like you're texting somebody." She glanced around and saw Detective Lance head toward Tommy. "I'll—" she dug her brain, but came up empty. "Don't know, do something. Wait here."

Thea nodded and Felicity pushed her way through the crowd as Detective Quentin Lance yelled, "PARTY'S OVER!" The music actually stopped. The crowd groaned and booed. Felicity reached the detective just in time to hear him say, "Tommy Merlyn, imagine my shock at finding you here. Back to old habits now that your partner-in-crime is back, I see."

"Detective," Felicity heard her own voice and couldn't believe that she actually dared to get involved, but it was better to keep the attention on her and away from Thea. She tipped her head as she looked at Lance. "This is a private party."

"Mrs. Queen, of course! Always a pleasure to step onto your perfectly manicured toes."

"That's pedicured, Detective. And I doubt that you could do more damage to my feet than the heels I'm wearing."

"You always were a smartass."

"One of her best features," Oliver complimented as he suddenly popped up next to Felicity and wrapped his arm around her. "Detective, what brings you here?"

"There was an incident at Adam Hunt's building next door. Do you know anything about that?"

Oliver's hand rested on Felicity's back. "Who's Adam Hunt?"

"He's a millionaire bottom feeder, and I'm kind of surprised you two aren't friends."

"I've been out of town for a while."

"Well, he got attacked by a guy in a hood—and that sounds suspiciously like the guy who saved your ass the other day."

Felicity couldn't help but look at Oliver in confusion. What the hell was Lance talking about? But Oliver's mask of indifference was perfectly in place. "The hood guy?" he asked, now sounding mildly interested. "You didn't find him? Let me help you." He let go of Felicity and took a step back as he brought his hands to his lips as if to increase his shouting. "Two million dollars to anybody who catches the hood guy!"

It was a cocky gesture. It was even more out there than the posing on the pedestal. When he had let the crowd celebrate him as he stood on the platform, Felicity had known that he had hidden his insecurities behind a broad gesture. So: what was he hiding now? She looked at him in curious confusion as the people around her cheered.

In the next moment Lance took two quick steps forward, limiting the space between him and Oliver. "Did you even try to save her?" he spat. "Did you even try to save my daughter?"

Detective Hilton – Lance's partner, who had stood by observing until know – quickly moved between them. Bringing his hand to Lance's chest, he whispered, "Don't. Partner, don't. Sara wouldn't want this."

Hatred twisted Lance's features, but he caught himself. Stepping backward, he brought more space between himself and Oliver. The two men glared at each other. In the end it was Oliver who broke the contact: he turned to the DJ and called, "Where's the music? This a party."

As the first notes of Avicii's "Levels" rang through the hall and people started dancing again, the policemen turned around and walked back toward the stairs. Felicity looked after them, trying to seem unaffected. But she needed a second to regain her composure. Normally, she was much better with keeping the uncaring character of Felicity Queen in place.

"If you think about it, it really is a strange coincidence," Tommy said now, turning to Oliver. "I mean, you asking to have your party here, and Hunt getting robbed next door—and by the same guy that apparently saved you from those kidnappers."

Seriously, what kidnappers?! Felicity was lacking some crucial information here! But she kept from commenting on it. Oliver now took one step toward his best friend and got right into his face. "If I were you, I'd just be happy to be alive."

A cold shiver raced down Felicity's spine. She had heard many threats in the last five years—none of them had sounded as sincere as this sentence Oliver had practically spat at the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Tommy sounded as rattled as Felicity felt, asking, "What happened to you on that island?"

"A lot," was Oliver's only answer.

When the two men didn't stop staring at each other, Felicity cleared her throat. The well-known feeling that she was being stupid while not being able to act any other way captured Felicity as she reached for Oliver's hand. "I think we should call it a night. That's enough partying for one day—and we should get Thea home."

Slowly, Oliver ripped his eyes away from Tommy. "Thea? Where is she?"

"She left the party as soon as Detective Lance cleared the area," John Diggle suddenly appeared by their sides. "Mr. and Mrs. Queen, the car is parked out front."

Right in that moment, Felicity knew that John Diggle was the best bodyguard possible.

* * *

><p>Silence filled the car. It was a brooding, slightly uncomfortable one. After two hours of tension and saving face, Felicity couldn't take it anymore. "That party sucked ass. And I'm half-buzzed, which means there's the possibility of a headache that even won't be worth it." She looked up from her cell phone. "And Thea isn't answering me. What is it with Queens being difficult?"<p>

Oliver turned to look at her.

Felicity huffed. "Yeah, yeah, I know." She wasn't in the mood for a "welcome to the club"-hint. Her phone buzzed in her hand. "Thank God," she breathed as she saw that it was a message from Thea, saying she was fine and on her way back home. Was the latter realistic? A seventeen-year-old without real parental supervision going home on a Saturday at eleven o'clock?

John Diggle's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Where to?"

Felicity looked up. She didn't really understand why he would ask. Where else would they go? "Home?" she said.

John met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "By my estimation you haven't eaten anything today, Felicity."

In her surprised she blinked stupidly. "What?"

"I met you in your office around noon. You haven't eaten since and I thought maybe you'd like to take a pit-stop and grab a bite."

"That's a good idea," Oliver agreed and Felicity felt strangely ganged up on.

She was about to object when John said, "Then it's settled," and turned the car around.

* * *

><p>They had to be kidding her! Felicity stared at the red and yellow sign as she stood on the sidewalk. Part of her hated that she had turned into <em>that<em> kind of girl, but the bigger part was shocked they would even suggest this—burgers at almost midnight? If a muffin for lunch didn't mix with Felicity's diet, how should this?

Still, she let Oliver steer her toward the Big Belly Burger with his hand on her lower back.

"Best burgers in Starling," John declared as he held the door open for her.

She walked past him and was greeted by a very pretty woman standing behind the counter. Felicity tried a small smile, "If you're about to close..."

She let the sentence hanging, but the other woman smiled. "No worries. Johnny said you'd come by."

Raising an eyebrow she turned around. "Oh, did you, Johnny?"

Ignoring the question, John gestured toward a booth. "Have a seat."

Holding back a sigh, Felicity did. Oliver slipped into the bench opposite to her. She noticed John and the pretty woman behind the counter talking and couldn't help but wonder if they were together. There was definitely something there, some connection.

"Thank you."

Oliver's voice brought her attention back to him. She frowned. "For what?"

"For being there tonight. For worrying about Thea. For being okay with me talking to Laurel."

She made a dismissive gesture. "Of course, you don't have to thank me for any of that, it's nothing."

"To me it's something."

He looked so sincere. It caused a warm feeling to spread through Felicity and a smile to show on her face. They looked into each other's eyes until John Diggle broke the connection by placing two plates in front of them. His friend/possible girlfriend followed and set two glasses down. "Diet Coke," she explained.

Felicity smiled politely. "Thank you. And thanks for keeping the restaurant open for us."

"It's no problem," the woman dismissed. "Friends of Johnny are my friends."

"Still. Thank you. I'm Felicity, by the way."

"Oh," the woman laughed, "I know who you are." Felicity hated when people did that, but she kept the smile in place as the woman now caught herself. "I'm Carly. Carly Diggle."

"Oh," Felicity eyes snapped to Diggle. "Mrs. Diggle."

John looked at her. "Carly is..." He caught himself, cleared his throat and corrected, "...was my brother's wife."

Oh. Inwardly, Felicity was hitting herself. That was so typically her, always stepping right in, making things uncomfortable and ending up trying to put her foot in her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she said, all playfulness leaving her voice. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Carly tried a sad smile. "It's tough, but I guess you know what it's like."

Felicity's eyes snapped to Oliver, who sat opposite to her, as calm and casual as always. "Yes," Felicity said slowly. "I guess I do." She searched for something to say that didn't involve a quip about islands or husbands returning from the dead, because that was seriously bad taste.

Luckily, Carly spared her from having to say anything as she motioned to the food on the table. "Enjoy your meal."

"Thank you," Oliver said.

Felicity watched the other couple return to the counter, then she sank back in her seat. "I'm in the really uncomfortable place where I either drank too much or too little. Not that I would have definitely avoided such an uncomfortable situation when being sober, but..." She sighed.

Oliver shook his head, glanced at Diggle and Carly, who were focused on their own conversation again. "You couldn't possible know." He reached for one of the plates. "But the way you got the information you wanted out of her..." he nodded appreciatively, "that was nicely done. Very smooth."

Felicity reached for her drink. "I spent a lot of time with your mother." She flinched. "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm constantly bad-mouthing her, which probably isn't the best thing to do. Since she's your mother. Of course, you know how difficult she— I don't mean _difficult_ difficult, she's just very opiniona— I can't save this, I'm only making it worse, I'll stop taking in three... two... one."

Oliver just looked at her. "I'm the guy who's got a new bodyguard because of her. Believe me, I know how opinionated my mother can be." He pushed a plate in front of Felicity. "Here, eat something."

Felicity stared down at the plate, at the big burger surrounded by fries. She shook her head. "I won't eat that."

"Felicity, Diggle has a point. You need to eat."

"I told you that I haven't have a burger in five years. I was very serious about that."

"I didn't have a burger in five years either," his voice was strangely strict. "I'm not saying you should turn this into a habit. I'm just saying that you can have a burger with me to celebrate that we survived the party relatively unharmed."

A war was raging inside Felicity—and the part of her that worried about calories and snappy comments and skinny jeans (she didn't even wear) lost. "Well, if this is your real 'yay, I'm not dead'-party, I guess I can hardly say no." Tentatively, she reached for the burger with both hands. After hesitating another short instant, she dared it and took a huge bite.

It was heaven right there on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she chewed, enjoying the unhealthy but oh so _good_ taste. Slowly she opened her eyes again and met Oliver's slightly amused ones. "Good?" he asked.

She swallowed. "Better. Now you." She watched as he took a huge bite. He chewed and nodded appreciatively. When his mouth was empty again, he called toward the counter where Diggle and Carly were still talking, "Best burger in town."

It was unfounded flattery by a person who didn't have a burger in five years, but it was a nice gesture. Felicity lifted her own thumb as she was already chewing on the next bite and saw that Carly looked honestly happy with their reactions. Oliver and Felicity continued to eat in silence. It was a comfortable one, it was nice to sit there with him and eat a burger. It was a quiet, casual moment and Felicity suddenly realized that it had been many, many years since she had such a moment with a man. Her last boyfriend... He hadn't done casual well. Thinking about the last moment similar to this one transported Felicity all the way back to high school. God, things had been so easy back then.

Chewing on the last bite of his burger, Oliver reached for a napkin to thoroughly clean his hands. He looked at Felicity in a way that grabbed her attention, causing her to look away from her plate and the fry she had just dared to lift up. Their eyes met and the barest smile showed on Oliver's face. "I want to stay married."

The fry fell from Felicity hand onto her place. "What?"

The smile vanished from his face instantly. "Does that sound so crazy to you?"

"No!" She flinched. "Yes!" Seriously? That was the succession she ordered her answers in?!

The upward tug of his mouth was back. "Which one is it?"

"That depends on your reason for saying that." She cleared her suddenly dry throat. "Why do you want to stay married? Is this just some sort of obligation you're feeling? Because you don't owe me anything. And I don't care about keeping up appearances. If you're worried about money, about your trust fund, I just want Firestorm, I don't care about anything else."

"It's nothing like that." He said and sat up straighter in his seat. "It was nice to have you by my side tonight."

Felicity found nothing but sincerity in his features. She dared a smile, because, despite the evening involving some really bad moments, the time that they had actually spent together had been enjoyable—and that was a medium- to large-sized miracle, if you considered the circumstances. "Yes," she dared to agree, "it's been strangely nice."

Oliver leaned closer to her, his forearms resting on the table, and spoke more quietly. "I liked having somebody by my side who understands, who knows some of the things that happened. That meant a lot to me."

She reached for his hand. "Oliver, you have my support—we don't need to be married for that."

He hesitated before he said, "I told Laurel that I was a married man and that I didn't appreciate her calling you a soulless slut. She backed up instantly. All the girls that would have been all over me at the party, they kept their distance."

An involuntarily laugh fled from Felicity's lips. "You want to name-drop me to scare women off?"

"No!" He shook his head. "Okay, I made that sound bad. I'm not good with stuff like this." He cleared his throat. "I need some time to come to terms with myself."

"After everything you've been through that's not surprising. In fact, I think it would be healthy for you do to that. Instead of pleasing your friends and going to dodgy parties."

"You say that, because you're the only one who knows what I've been through."

"No, Oliver, that's just common sense. Plus, you hardly told me anything."

"You know more than anybody else." His eyes held a softness she had never seen before when he continued, "You were the only one who could imagine that I could use some time to myself. You have been the only bright light these last few days, the only one who made things easier. I know, I'm not exactly a catch at the moment, and I know it's unfair after all the things you've been through yourself. Kristina said that you were finally in a good place and I don't want to mess with that..." He trailed off and left a lot of blanks for Felicity to fill in.

But it wasn't difficult to do so: he wanted to hole up at her place, far from his mother's reach. He wanted to use her as his safety net, wanted to connect to her, because it was easy; there were already so many things connecting them. She knew all these things, because in the first weeks after she had given birth to Jonas, Felicity had hidden at Kristina's place—and she had only known her for a few weeks then. Who would she be if she didn't repay the favor?

"It's okay, Felicity." Oliver leaned back in his seat, pulling his hand out from under hers. "You're right, this would be a bad idea." Apparently, he had misinterpreted her long silence. He added a sad smile. "You know my life's a mess right now. You're right not to get involved in that."

Felicity's eyes met his. Her voice was calm when she asked, "You told Laurel that you didn't like her calling me a soulless slut?"

A frown darkened his features. "I did. Of course."

"If we stay married, I expect more of that sticking up for me."

He smiled. "I will stick up for you, even if we don't stay married."

Damn him for saying such sentences that made her heart pump a little faster. "Good thing I kept my word and bought a bed for the guest room. It's all yours, if you want it."

He took an audible breath, heavily through his nose, before he said, "Felicity, you really are remarkable."

She smirked, remembering this exact exchange they had only yesterday. "Thank you for remarking on it—again."

"No, thank you." They shared another moment, silently sitting together, looking each other in the eyes. Until Felicity smiled and said, "Let's go home."


	8. Chapter 7

Firstly, I don't think it's too late to wish you all a **Happy New Year**! I wish you the best for 2015!

Secondly, I cannot thank you enough for the overwhelming response to the previous chapter. I'm still in awe and just very, very happy that you enjoy this story as much as you do. The heartfelt reviews were simply amazing and to know how invested you are in this story blows my mind. I don't have adequate words. All I can do is say THANK YOU and pull you in for the most excessive group huge in cyber space, ever: **thekiller00**, **CaRiNeSs**,** the-light-inside-of-you**, **txn04evr**, **KylieCullenSummers**, **matrim cuthin**, **lateVMlover**, **salazarjasam**, **LilyLanie**, **foxxandbeanz**, **bellapaige88**, **IzzyBella1897**, **misspsycho24**, **Sjlove07**, **alemap74**,** emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl**, **coriander72**, **schrooten5**, **LoisLane2012**, **WearRedTonight**, **Yuyu07**, **dancenwrite**, **FaberryBRA**,** SmoakingQueen**, **LachesisBenton**, **sharkbaitz17**, **scorpio38457**, **Melcole24**, **Laura**, **Andy**, **Jen**, **Luv2Live**, **IFancyu**, **Kat**, **HayleyMikaelson**, **ellieloves2read**, **sanrio76**, **ReaderKas**, **Bunney** and the guests that were so nice to leave a message.

I hope this chapter will answer a few of the most pressing questions. It is, as always, dedicated to **Albiona**—in sickness and in health an amazing beta-reader and friend.

* * *

><p><strong>October 17<strong>**th****, 2012**

Coming back from the dead was a bureaucratic minefield.

Thank God his mother's lawyers had handled everything. Still, he had to appear in court today to make a statement so that his death-in-absentia judgment would be voided. He felt a nervous tingle in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. In the last week he had been in multiple fights; those had been dangerous, life-threatening moments, but still he had never been this uneasy in any of them.

A small part of him was shocked, but the bigger part knew that it came with the territory. He was good with fighting, he knew what he was doing there. On the other hand, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing every minute he wasn't pulling up the hood and going after people whose names were on the list he had gotten from his father.

Oliver glanced in the mirror, taking in his reflection, the image he was presenting to everybody else. The guy in the designer suit that looked back at him was somebody he didn't recognize. He was a stranger who had nothing to do with the reality he was living. He was an appearance that didn't match the inner workings of his mind. Because his mind was filled with revenge and anger and painful memories. He reached for his jacket and straightened it out. He took another deep breath to steady and steel himself for what he knew what was coming, and wouldn't be pleasant.

His steps echoing a strength he wasn't feeling, he walked down to what Felicity called the main room. Felicity stood behind the kitchen counter and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning. Coffee?"

Oliver walked toward her. "Yes, thank you."

He took a mug out of the cupboard and held it out for her to fill. While she did that he let his eyes glide over her. She was wearing another dress, black dots on white ground. It was hugging her figure but it was perfectly modest for going to court with him. He again took note on how pretty she looked.

"Thank you for coming with me," he said and meant it.

Since he had moved into her guest room five days ago, she had been nothing but awesome. Not once had she asked him why he went out every night after she went to bed—and he was sure that she had noticed. They had run into each other last night after he came back from confronting Markus Redman, after he had pushed this man's face so close to a quickly rotating fan that only inches had stood between him and a very ugly, very big scar. But she had said nothing but "good night."

When he had asked her to keep their marriage going, he had hoped that it would be so easy. During his welcome home bash he had realized that Felicity indeed was the perfect distraction. He had been gone for nearly thirty minutes, but nobody had noticed, because Felicity and his sister had danced.

But that, her usefulness, wasn't the only reason he wanted to stay married. He had to admit that it felt good to have somebody by his side, on his side. He also felt a certain connection between them. As soon as Felicity had stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, he had noticed the subtle changes. The woman facing the paparazzi with him wasn't the woman he had dinner with the previous evening, not the woman who didn't have her tongue under control, who had suffered an unspeakable loss, not the woman who was compassionate and insightful. That woman joining him on the red carpet had been all act, all poise and control, and right in that moment Oliver had felt like he had found a soulmate.

It was the most twisted version of a soulmate possible, but it still stirred something inside Oliver. And as he now looked at her, he couldn't help but realize that he really cared around her, that he really enjoyed being with her—for far more reasons than the fact that it was easy, comfortable, and strategically beneficial.

Felicity smiled up at him. "Of course. Nowhere else I'd want to be today." She put the coffee pot back into the coffeemaker. "I do hope they resurrect you quickly, though, I have an important meeting at one."

Her eyes snapped to him, and Oliver knew that she would apologize for her wording in the next moment. He stopped her from doing so by speaking up first. "I hope so, too. Shouldn't take four hours to confirm that I'm alive, should it?"

Felicity eyes slid over him. "No," she said, "it shouldn't." She took a sip of her coffee and headed toward the dining table, where her ritual newspaper was waiting for her. Oliver sat the mug down and opened the cupboard where he knew the bowls were stored. As he prepared his morning cereal he again noticed that Felicity didn't eat anything. He had rarely seen her eat in the five days they were living together. He hadn't dared to mention it to her yet. He looked at her as she sat by the kitchen table with nothing but her newspaper and her coffee. He lifted the box in his hand and asked, "Do you want some cereal, too?"

Startled, her eyes left the article she was reading. "What?"

He waved the box and repeated, "Cereal?"

"No, thank you," she answered and instantly went back to her reading.

Part of Oliver wanted to insist, inquire on the topic, but the bigger part knew that he wasn't good with stuff like that and he knew that it was easier to back off. So he just filled his bowl and sat down opposite Felicity. Like every morning, she found the sports section of the paper first and like every morning in the last five days she pushed it over to him.

They spent the next ten minutes in silence. Oliver reveled in the quiet that surrounded them, in the fact that they could sit there, not saying anything and just being.

He had emptied his bowl of cereal and his mug of coffee when he brought Felicity's attention back to him. "My lawyer took care of our marriage."

Her eyes left the printed words and settled in him. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I told you that, since the annulment was pending when I disappeared, the judge would bring that up during my proof-of-life-hearing?" She nodded affirmation. "My lawyer already... I don't know the term, he annulled the annulment, I guess. It won't be brought up today."

She smiled, relieved. "That's good."

Yes, it was. He tried to match her smile, but he knew that his could never be as beautiful as hers. "Thank you—"

"Oliver," she cut him off right there, "every morning the same thing. Please, stop it. You don't have to thank me. I like doing this for you. I am comfortable doing this for you. You're like a very tidy roommate who's barely there and pays the rent on time. And – spoiler alert – that's the best kind."

He smirked at her. "Understood." He was about to say more, when the landline rang. Getting up from his seat, he answered the phone and was greeted by the concierge telling him that a Tommy Merlyn wanted to see him. Oliver looked at Felicity. "It's Tommy."

For a long moment she just stared at him before she slowly nodded. "He's your friend. Of course, he can come up. But he better behave or I'll kick him out."

Oliver nodded. "Don't worry, if necessary, I'll do the kicking." He brought the receiver back to his mouth. "Send him up."

A few minutes later, Oliver waited by the door and his best friend stepped out of the elevator. "Tommy, I didn't expect you."

"My best friend is getting legally resurrected, where else would I be?!" The two men hugged and Oliver gestured for Tommy to enter.

"Our bodyguard will be here in five minutes," Oliver said.

"I heard your mother nearly fired him after you ditched him a few days ago."

Tommy sounded amused. Oliver just shrugged, because he didn't know what to say. It was the truth and Felicity had given him an earful for it, reminding him that Digg was a good guy and only doing his job. Damn her for appealing to his conscience. Damn his conscience for actually spawning a little guilt.

The men now stepped into the main room, where Felicity was busy putting their used dishes into the dish washer. "Felicity," Tommy greeted.

Felicity looked up and slowly nodded. "Tommy. It's nice of you to come and support Oliver."

"Are you kidding me?" Tommy smirked, "I went to court with Ollie every time—which was four times by my estimate. There was the DUI, the assault on that paparazzo douchebag, stealing that taxi – which was just awesome – and who could forget peeing on the cop?"

"You stole a taxi?" Felicity frowned. "You know they take you anywhere you want to go, right?"

Tommy looked at her. "Honestly? Out of all the misdemeanors I just listed, you ask about that one?!"

"Is peeing on a cop car a misdemeanor?" Felicity seemed honestly interested. "Because I can tell you, if anybody peed on me that would be a felony."

"Good to know that doesn't turn you on..." Tommy smirked.

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. Oliver knew that she would say something to that, but he really wasn't in the mood for the argument. Thank God the doorbell rang. Diggle was there and it was time to go to court.

* * *

><p>Being alive meant nerves. And Oliver felt his nerves as he stood in the court room. The rows behind him where filled to the last spot. His mother, Walter, Felicity, and Tommy sat in the front row, but everybody else was just here, because they were curious and in search of gossip. Oliver guessed it was one of those "I was there" moments. The mass amount of press and paparazzi outside had shown him clearly that people were interested in his return from the dead.<p>

Oliver had thought about what he'd say. He had practiced his very short speech in front of Felicity last night, who had said that it was perfect. He tried to remember her supportive smile as he looked at the judge sitting a little elevated on the bench. He pulled himself together and said, just like he had practiced, "There was a storm. The boat went down. I was the only survivor. My father didn't make it. I almost died; I thought I had, because I spent so many days on that life raft before I saw land. And when I reached it, I knew..." His voice hitched in his throat and he hated it. He started anew, "I knew that I was going to have to live for the both of us. In those five years, it was the one thought that kept me going."

His lawyer rose and stood next to Oliver. "Your honor, we move to vitiate the death-in-absentia filed after Oliver's disappearance at sea aboard _The Queen's Gambit_ five years ago. Unfortunately, we will not be requesting that the declaration of death filed for the petitioner's father, Robert Queen, be rescinded. The Queen family is only entitled to one miracle, I'm afraid."

The judge's green eyes under white bushy eyebrows took Oliver in carefully. "The death-in-absentia will be vitiated," he said then in a deep voice and to everybody's surprise he added, "I see there is another matter, a marriage annulment filed five years ago."

Again the lawyer spoke up, "I thought that matter was settled, your honor. Mr. Queen has no desire to annul the marriage."

"Yes, counselor, you informed me about that, but I have to make sure that Mrs. Queen doesn't have this desire either, since both parties requested an annulment and not just your client." Oliver saw the green eyes move past him and he knew who they settled on. "Mrs. Queen," the judge said, "do you wish to stay married to Oliver Queen?"

Oliver could hear her get up; it was the only sound audible in the room. It felt like the walls around them were bowing in from the collectively held breath. At first Oliver stared ahead, but then he thought about what this must look like to everybody else and he turned around to see Felicity stand there, her hands on the balustrade separating the seats for the spectators from the front. She held her head up high and her voice was strong as she said, "Yes, your honor. That's my wish."

"Are you sure?" the judge asked.

Felicity looked at him in surprise. "Why?" she said then. "Do you have a better offer?"

Oliver couldn't help but smirk at her—and also at the completely baffled face Tommy made while his mother looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. He caught himself quickly and said, "I honestly doubt that."

Felicity's eyes met his and he saw the teasing as she shrugged, "Can't blame a girl for trying." With that she sat back down. She had managed to ease up an awfully tense situation. They had been their cocky public personas and this right here was the perfect proof why staying with her for now was the most logical choice.

He turned back to the judge, who nodded. "The request for annulment is withdrawn." He glanced at a paper in front of him. "That leaves us one last matter: the acknowledgement of paternity."

The lightened mood vanished instantly. This time he instantly turned around to look at Felicity and he saw that her cool had slipped for a second. Yes, nobody had ever mentioned this might come up. They weren't prepared. The judge seemed unfazed and continued talking, "Oliver Jonas Queen, you are listed as the father of Jonas Henry Queen, stillborn on March 15, 2008. Do you acknowledge paternity?" Oliver saw that his mother reached for Felicity's hand and squeezed hard. The gesture meant a lot to Oliver. His eyes were still on Felicity and she now met his gaze. Their eyes were connected when he said, "Yes. I do."

And then it was done. He was legally alive, married, and father to a dead son.

* * *

><p>Even without Felicity the tension in the car was still thick.<p>

They had dropped her off at her company in Orchid Bay, a part of Starling City that was lacking high skyscrapers. Other than the Glades, which had descended into the bad part of town in the worst way possible, Orchid Bay had turned into the artsy neighborhood of the city, into the place the trendy single people wanted to live and spray their streetart onto the walls.

The headquarters of Firestorm, Inc. was a three story brick building. When Diggle stopped the Bentley in front of it, Oliver couldn't help but think that it was perfectly Felicity.

There had been so many things Oliver had wanted to say to her, but somehow the knowledge of Tommy sitting next to him had held him back. He had resorted to the simple question of, "Are you okay?"

She had looked at him shortly before she had nodded. "That was as uncomfortable as expected, but, yeah, I'm good. You?"

"As good as can be expected." Diggle had opened the door of the car for her right then and Oliver had ended with a "See you later."

"Yes, you will." She had sent Tommy a short glance, had added a "Bye, Tommy," and had gotten out of the car.

Since then, Tommy and Oliver sat next to each other in the backseat, saying nothing. Oliver knew that Diggle was driving around aimlessly. "Digg, how about another stop at Big Belly Burger?" He looked at Tommy. "Are you in the mood for the best burger in town?"

Tommy looked at him, not answering the question, but asking one of his own, "You want to stay married? Really?"

Oliver sighed. "Tommy, don't."

"Why? And remember that you're talking to me here. I was there when you married her and I know very well that everything your mother said was a bunch of bullshit!"

"It just feels right."

"I admit that the picture of the rumpled bed looked like a good night, but she didn't even kiss you good-bye just now. Do you really want a trophy wife?"

"No, Tommy," Oliver's voice was turning harder. "What I really want is one person in my life that's actually okay with the way I am now."

Shocked, Tommy stared at him. "I'm okay with the way you are. I'm just glad that you're back."

"NO." Oliver realized that he was getting loud and caught himself quickly, continuing more quietly, "You want your old drinking buddy back, but that guy is gone. He drowned five years ago."

"You're making a mistake." Tommy said, fighting for calm himself. "Attaching yourself to that woman is a mistake. She's not a nice person. She hurt Laurel with all those lies. Laurel, Ollie. Your Laurel!"

"You don't know Felicity and I'm not having this discussion with you!"

"Tell me, buddy. When you ended up on that island, who did you think of—Laurel or your drunken mistake?"

Oliver stared at the other man and had to admit, to himself of course, that Tommy had a point. During his first year on Lian Yu, Laurel had been his lifeline. He had stared at her picture, he had dreamt of her and wished he could be with her. The wish to go back to her and make up for his mistakes had been overwhelming. But that had stopped. It had stopped when he had turned to Shado, when Sara had suddenly turned out to be alive, when he had seen past all the guilt that weighed him down. Because he did feel guilty for how he had treated Laurel, for what he had done to her. Because the right thing would have been to break up with her one year before his trip on the _Gambit_. He cared about Laurel, she was his first love, but he had fallen out of love with her long before he had said yes to Felicity. He had just never dared to admit it. And – yes – he had thought about Felicity in the last five years. He hadn't been on the island then and it had only been once, but he had never completely forgotten about her.

But he couldn't tell Tommy this, he didn't trust Tommy enough to tell him—and that was a very hurtful realization. It was so painful that Oliver felt the need to end this topic. "No, you tell me, Tommy. Tell me why you're pushing Laurel on me when we both know that you're fucking her!"

That did the trick. Tommy's face fell instantly. His expression told Oliver everything he needed to know. His suspicion was proven by the guilt in Tommy's eyes, and it was confirmed further by the way he squirmed in his seat. "Who told you?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with disbelieve.

The unease visible on his friend's face calmed Oliver, too. "Nobody. It was fairly obvious that something's going on between you two when we met her in the Glades, and at my party."

"I'm sorry, bu—"

"Don't, Tommy. It's okay. I was dead and you two hooked up. That's fine with me. I'm married to another, remember?"

Tommy stared at him for a very long moment before he shook his head. "I wanted to tell you about Laurel and me. I just didn't find the right time or the right way... She was your girlfriend and being with her violates our friendship in about fifty different ways."

Oliver sighed. "Tommy, I was dead. That's the most definite form of break-up there is." Suddenly, the exact words his friend had used sank in, and it caused Oliver to frown and consider the last spoken sentence again. Tommy had used the present tense. That could only mean one thing, "You're still seeing her? Are you together?"

"We're engaged."

"You'r—" Oliver couldn't help but blink, because just like that he felt like he had lost control over the conversation. Because he had expected a lot, but that was unexpected.

"Yes," Tommy's voice was awfully small. "I proposed a few days before you returned."

The first thing that entered Oliver's brain was that that was the epitome of suck-y timing. For Tommy. The poor guy. Oliver had a pretty good idea what he was going through, how he was torn between his loyalties toward the woman he wanted to marry and the man who had been like a brother to him all his life.

"I understand that you're mad," Tommy hurried to say, "you have every right to be. I should have told you sooner, I should have told you instantly. Because, if you still love Laurel I will—"

"No," Oliver shook his head. "Tommy, no. I just didn't expect it, that's all. I mean, you—engaged." In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, "It's like I returned to a twilight zone."

"Says Oliver Queen, married man!" Tommy smirked. "Now, if that doesn't sound like it should be against nature, I don't know what is."

Oliver chuckled. "Good point. When did we grow up?"

Tommy looked serious. "I'd say five years ago."

The teasing leaving his features, Oliver nodded.

Tommy sighed. "I really thought Quee— Felicity had told you. I'm sorry, I never knew how to bring it up. I know that Laurel was yours. I don't know how it happened. Her and I, we bonded over losing you. Over being angry at Que— Felicity. And suddenly I'm sitting in Quentin Lance's living room, asking for his blessing."

"Wow," Oliver looked at his friend. "You're a brave man. He didn't seem too pleased with you at the party last week."

"It's... difficult. We're both trying for Laurel's sake." Tommy finally dared to look his friend in the eyes. "That's why I was pushing and why I needed you two to talk at the party. I needed to know that there was nothing... left between you. Because if there is I'll—"

Oliver cut his friend off yet again, needing the other man to finally believe what he had told him before. "There is nothing left between Laurel and me." Oliver said, his voice strong. "I was never good for her, I never made her happy. Believe me, I have no desire to reheat something that was cold years ago." The relief that radiated off his friend was visible. Oliver couldn't help but smile. He brought his hand to his friend's shoulder. "Congratulations, buddy. I'm really happy for you."

Tommy smiled—a wide and relieved smile that was an amazing sight. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I don't know how I'll do it yet, but I'll manage to talk Laurel into inviting you to our wedding. You and Qu— Felicity."

"I sense that's going to be hard work," Oliver's hand left his friend's shoulder again, "and not only because you're constantly swallowing a bad nickname you two obviously have for her."

"You told Laurel that we're supposed to stop bad-mouthing your wife." Tommy laughed. "Boy, she was pissed, let me tell you."

"Laurel has every right to be mad at me. I am to blame for many things. But you and I both know that nothing that happened is Felicity's fault."

"Yes, I know. But you need to understand: After the_ Gambit _sank Laurel was a wreck. She was so angry at Sara and at you that she couldn't grieve. But at the same time, she was so devastated that she lost Sara and you. She was hurting and there didn't seem to be a way for her to get better. Back then it seemed healthy to turn her anger at a stranger. I knew that your mother's interview was a load of bullshit, and I never believed the whole pregnancy thing..." Tommy hesitated for a short moment. To Oliver it seemed as if he was collecting his courage when he dared to ask, "Do you really want to be with her?" Seeing the look crossing his friend's face, Tommy held his hands up in a calming gesture. "I honestly want to know. Is this some kind of PTSD-thing?"

Taking a deep breath, Oliver said, "No, I told you: I want to see what she and I could be. I know people think the worst of her, but she's not like that."

Silence settled between them, until Tommy, slowly, nodded. "Stillborn, huh?"

"Yes."

More silence followed. Then Tommy's small voice. "I'm sorry." Oliver just nodded wordlessly. Tommy sat up a little straighter in his seat. "I know it's not the right time to do this, but there's another thing I wanted to talk to you about and I've been pushing it back for days."

"What is it?"

"Ever since we stopped at your father's old factory I had this idea... Ollie, how do you feel about opening up a club with me?"

* * *

><p>Resurrecting your husband should be the weirdest part of the day. What did it say about Felicity's life that it wasn't? What did it say about Felicity's life that a meeting with the man, who was technically her father-in-law, freaked her out even more?<p>

Carefully, Felicity took the man opposite her in. Walter Steele looked so very tired as he sat in her office, lines caused by worry visible all over his face. Now that Felicity really looked at him, the always thin English man looked even thinner. She really liked Walter, she cared for him a lot. He was a good man, he had helped her a lot, had encouraged her. And she knew that she had to repay the favor, she wanted to repay the favor, but what he was asking of her seemed too weird. "You want me to check Moira's accounts?"

"And the accounts of Queen Consolidated she has access to."

"That would be most of them."

"That is correct."

Felicity's face was serious, her voice was soft and quiet. Even though her office door was closed – she was really turning that into a habit lately – she didn't want anybody to hear what she would say next, "You think that Moira embezzled money?"

"That is your conclusion."

"It's the only logical one from what you told me." Felicity took a deep breath. "2.6 million dollars? That's a shi—" You couldn't swear around Walter Steele, you – or, rather, Felicity – really couldn't. "A lot of money." And nobody at QC missed it. Walter had told her that he had stumbled across it by accident. That said so much about how much money the Queen-Steeles had—but also about how their company was led.

"I know your capabilities, Felicity." Walter said now. "I need you to discreetly dig around. I am aware that it puts you in a delicate position, especially regarding Oliver's very recent return. But I would like to keep it within the family. And I trust you completely, Felicity."

"Of course," Felicity sighed. "Don't worry, I will be discreet. You know discretion is my middle name." She frowned. "Actually—"

Walter smiled. "It's Meghan, I know. You always mention that in these particular moments." Walter rose from his chair. "Thank you, Felicity. I appreciate your help. And thank you for agreeing to go to the _Unidac_ auction next week. I wish I could attend personally, but the conference in Australia has been scheduled for months. I know the bidding will be in good hands with you."

This man had always been her mentor, her very dignified cheerleader. There was no way in hell that Felicity would let him down.

* * *

><p>There was such a thing as being too thorough. Felicity knew, because she was exactly that. She was too thorough and too good at thoroughly combing through other people's data. She wished she could just overlook all of the numbers popping up where they didn't belong, but she couldn't.<p>

By trying not to let Walter down, she had gone down the rabbit hole and found the evil Queen of Hearts. Wow, Felicity realized that analogy was kind of fitting.

But, seriously, it was so much worse than she had anticipated. If the data she had dug up was correct, Moira Queen hadn't embezzled money. She had laundered it.

It was the only logical explanation. Why else would she invest in a company that didn't exist? Oh, the fake website was done masterfully. The only mistake they had made was taking a picture of Ben Warren and turning him into their CEO. He might be a minor character on _Grey's Anatomy_, but Kristina and Felicity had watched that show together for years, and Felicity had a very soft spot for that hunk of a boyfriend of Dr. Miranda Bailey.

It was a mistake that had spiked Felicity's interest. Four hours ago. She hadn't even noticed time passing as she had hacked various servers as well as networks and datamined her way through the darknet only to end up with the distinct feeling that Walter really wouldn't like what she had found. She was about to end her search when she noticed a definite slowing of her laptop. It caused a cold shiver to run through her. Because other people might not notice something like that, they might brush it off as nothing, but Felicity knew what each minor thing a computer meant and the meaning of this exact thing was a worst-case scenario: somebody had piggy-backed her, somebody was scooping through her files. How the hell had he managed that? How they hell had he breached her firewall? If she was serious about one thing it was the protection of her data—at Firestorm and at home, where she sat with her laptop at the dining room table.

Felicity's fingers flew over the keyboard, but she couldn't shut the intruder out, couldn't stop him from scooping through her files. There was only one thing she could do. She reached for the glass of diet coke that had lost all sparkle in the last hours she had worked, and poured it over her laptop. The poor beautiful thing sparked one last time and then it went dead with smoke billowing up from the keyboard.

"Fucking shit," Felicity cursed under her breath as she sank back in her seat.

"Why did you do that?"

Startled, Felicity shot up again only to find Oliver standing on the other side of the table. She had been so lost in her work that she hadn't noticed him returning from another nightly trip. That's what she had come to call them: trips. She couldn't bring herself to think of them as anything else, because she didn't know how she felt about the kind of trips he was most likely taking.

For a second Felicity contemplated telling him that she was a klutz and lamenting the death of her laptop, but then she decided not to insult his intelligence. "Somebody was hacking into our network and I couldn't stop him."

Oliver blinked, obviously surprised. "We were hacked? Why?"

She looked at him. "I—" she started, but trailed off. That seemed to spike his interest. He tipped his head to the side, watching her while she searched for words. But she was too aggravated and shaken by what had just happened to come up with a good lie. "Okay, so, I started the hacking, but nobody was supposed to notice. And they most definitely weren't supposed to follow me home. I mean, this is home, we're supposed to be safe were. He got past my firewall—and that shouldn't happen. I am very serious about protection." She hesitated. "When it comes to technology... Okay, and sex. I really learned from our little fiasco. Not that I'd have had a—"

"Felicity," his voice was soft as he cut her off. "Relax, take a deep breath."

Realizing that her ramble had maybe gotten her a little off-topic, she did take a deep breath, but it didn't help to calm her. "I cannot relax, because this is the worst possible thing that could have happened. He followed me home. He might have figured out who I am, who we are."

He looked at her, and Felicity couldn't help but be impressed by how calm he was. He probably didn't understand the dimension of what she was telling him here, Felicity reasoned.

"Is there a way for you to know for certain, if he knows who you are?" Oliver asked.

"No."

"Can you figure out who he was?"

"Probably not."

"Then I think you can only wait and see."

"Great," she huffed, sarcastically. "Exactly what I need."

His eyes were glued to her as he asked, "What were you hacking anyway? I had no idea you were a hacker."

Instantly, Felicity felt caught. She couldn't tell him about her suspicions, couldn't tell him what she thought his mother was involved in. She needed definite proof, before she unloaded that onto him. The poor man had enough to deal with already. Maybe this one thing would be the one too many, the one to break him. "Oh," she said dismissively. "I did a friend a favor. It was nothing." She didn't know why, but she felt the need to add, "Normally, I'm a really good hacker, you know. It's really difficult to get past me. Wow, that sounds like a brag, really awful—"

"Felicity, is there anything you could do apart from drowning your laptop in Diet Coke?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "Nothing apart from cursing myself for being so stupid to do this from home."

He looked at her and she really liked the soft expression on his face. "Then I think we should both call it a night. It's past three in the morning. You know, if anything happens, I'm right down the hall."

The last sentence was a strange thing for him to say. Why was that supposed to calm her?

Strangely, it did.


	9. Chapter 8

I know I'm repeating myself and I feel like I should be more creative than that, but the simple fact is that your awesomeness is leaving me speechless. I'm really at a loss for words (at least when it comes to creative author's comments, luckily not with regard to chapter writing), so I'll go with a simple and honest and whole-hearted: THANK YOU for everything!

Reading the wonderful, encouraging, insightful, and funny reviews is a treat. Yes, I mean you: **misspsycho24**, **darklou**, **HotHybridSex**, **FaberryBRA**, **Naleylover23xo**, **the-light-inside-of-you**, **CaRiNeSs**, **luckycomet09**, **lateVMlover**, **WinterRain36**, **bellapaige88**, **nrdhrd3**, **cruzstar**, **Dark Alana**, **Ireland1733**, **sanrio76**,** BlueJean452**, **IzzyBella1897**, **schrooten5**, **dancenwrite**, **Luv2Live**, **coriander72**, **NorthernLights25**, **farmgirl1964**, **thekiller00**, **KylieCullenSummers**, **evansrachel2282**, **CealSR**, **Yuyu07**, **Barrskog**, **amkjo001**, **scorpio38457**, **mel1804**, **LachesisBenton**, **txn04evr**, **luzanima**, **emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl**, **IFancyu**, **Anonymous**, **Siobhan**, **K-Marie-M**, **horsegirl75**, **Strata's Stargazer**, **Jen**, **morwenna99**, **fruitl00p**,** ajoki .azgmail .com**, **Evestra87, Erica .Cade** and the guest. Thank you all very much.

All my love to **Albiona**, amazing friend, awesome beta.

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, too.

* * *

><p><strong>October 18<strong>**th****, 2012**

Once again he was faced with something that didn't quite live up to his memories. Since he had stepped out of the elevator and onto Queen Consolidate's executive floor, he had tried to bring the past and the present together and failed. Everything had changed, beginning with the layout and the placement of the office and continuing with the furnishing. The design was colder, darker, more sterile. Grey, black, chrome, and glass dominated the interior where red and green and wood had been before. It might have been old-fashioned, but Oliver had always liked that atmosphere. He seriously wondered who wanted to work in an office when three out of four of its walls were made of glass. He felt like he was standing in a giant aquarium for people to get a good look at him—and he noticed that the secretary sitting on the other side of the glass wall took thorough advantage of that right now.

"As you can see, we have modernized." His mother said now, sounding pleased.

Wordlessly, Oliver resumed his perusal. Being here brought back memories, memories of his father that had been long forgotten. Back when his father had just been "dad", when he had let Oliver drink soda in the office—it was their shared secret from his mother. Oliver had come here and driven his remote-controlled race-car in the long halls. And there had been Mrs. Abernathy, his father's secretary, who had always given him chocolate. Those had been simpler times. He looked at the desk that was empty and spotless and he knew why his mother and Walter had brought him up here.

"Queen Consolidated's success of late is a result of its targeted diversification." Walter Steele's voice ripped Oliver out of his reminiscences. Slowly he turned around, put his back to the desk he had been staring at, and faced his mother and her husband, who now continued, "We have been making impressive inroads in cutting-edge fields like bio-tech and clean energy."

Oliver tried to imagine himself behind that desk, in the spot where his father had always been. He couldn't. Because no matter how fond Oliver's memories of this office were, they didn't show the real past, the things that had really happened, the way his father had orchestrated other people's life from behind that desk. It was a position Oliver never wanted to take. Being part of that would be going against everything he had come back to do.

But those were things he couldn't tell his mother – or her new husband, for that matter. He couldn't admit to them how much he hated the corporate image and everything it represented, because both of them were part of the representation.

Slipping an uncaring, casual coat on, he smirked and said, "That's neat." It was a stupid statement, but that was what Oliver was going for: stupid and careless, aka Ollie Queen in the year of 2006.

Walter didn't exactly manage to keep his face even. He was obviously not impressed with his stepson. Oliver couldn't really blame him, but he also couldn't bring himself to care what that man thought of him.

Walter cleared his throat. "Oliver, since you expressed interest in this company right after your return, I am sure you will like our suggestion."

No, he wouldn't. He knew that he really, really wouldn't.

"The company is about to break ground for a new applied sciences division," Walter continued. "We would like to honor your father by dedicating the building in his name."

What an empty gesture. Oliver nodded in fake appreciation. "Nice!" he said and took the opportunity to add, "I have great news, too. Tommy and I will open a club."

Moira and Walter gawked at him. And Ditzy-Ollie nodded. "I know. Awesome, right?!"

"Are you serious?" His mother's voice made it clear that she believed he couldn't possibly be.

"Sure. Tommy asked me and I think it's an amazing idea. My name and his attached to a club—people will come from all around the country to party with us."

"Oliver, you said that you wanted to be a different person."

"I am, mom. I'm starting my own business. If that isn't taking responsibility, I don't know what is."

"Queen Consolidated is your business. It's the family business and we need you to take a leadership position in this company."

"I don't want to lead anything."

"No, you want to fall into old habits." Moira threw her hands up. "What does your wife say about this?"

Oliver stared. Wow, his mother played the wife-card! She must really be desperate. It was a little ironic, since Oliver was one hundred percent sure that Felicity would be supportive, as soon as she heard how much his mother hated the idea. But he kept from telling the woman opposite to him that. Instead he said, his voice and face hard, "I haven't told her yet."

"Maybe you should do that. Because that's what marriage is about: making decisions together." His mother was such a lousy hypocrite. It was a hurtful thought that Oliver felt slightly guilty about. Still, he couldn't help but think exactly that as his mother went on, "You can say what you want about Felicity, but she is a business woman. She is invested in the family business that you are rebuking." She looked at him with strict eyes. "You are Robert Queen's son."

A cold shiver raced down Oliver's spine. That sentence came with so much baggage, with so much pressure, with a guilty conscious, because there were times when Oliver wished he could be somebody, anybody else's son. The careless facade had already slipped, but it imploded right in that second as he practically spat, "I don't need to be reminded of that!"

His mother seemed unfazed by the aggression in his voice. "Well, obviously you do."

"And obviously you need to be reminded of the fact that I didn't get my MBA while I was on the island."

"We have a trainee—"

"No," Oliver shook his head. "I'm not interested. I won't do it."

"Oliver, you have a responsibility to your family, to your family name—a name that you distributed quite freely, I might add, while I was left to pick up the pieces and try to save face."

"Fuck saving face!" The words left Oliver's lips before he could stop them. And there was more he needed to say, "I haven't come back to replace Robert Queen. I want no part in that man's legacy!"

His mother stared at him as if he had slapped her. Then she straightened up and he could see her collect all her poise and dignity. "Five years ago your irresponsibility might have been somewhat charming. It's much less so now." She sent him one last steely glance, and stepped to the side. It was the signal that that conversation was over, that she had nothing left to say to him. For once Oliver completely agreed; there was nothing left to say.

Wordlessly, he brushed past his mother, followed by John Diggle. Wordlessly, the two men waited for the elevator. Wordlessly, they entered the cabin, rode down twenty-seven floors, crossed the hall, and left the building. As soon as he did, flashes washed over Oliver. People with cameras and microphones crowded around him, shouting questions at him, asking about the island, about Felicity, about... abortion. Hearing the last statement, he shot around to face the guy who had dared to ask that, ready to bring his fist against an unsuspecting nose.

But Diggle was faster. He stepped in front of Oliver. "Step back!" Diggle ordered and pushed the guy that Oliver had been about to assault. Diggle kept his body between Oliver and the reporters while he cleared the way. "Step back before I make you swallow that Nikon!"

His heart was still beating heavily when Oliver slid into the backseat of the Bentley. He slid so that Diggle could get in next to him, a habit the bodyguard had taken up since Oliver had jumped out of the car. Oliver just stared ahead, trying to seem unfazed by the reporters surrounding the car.

"The driver should be here any second," Diggle stated.

Oliver just nodded. He still didn't feel like talking; he had lost his cool up there with his mother and he had nearly lost his cool with that reporter. He was supposed to have moved way past that, past being so easy to agitate. He hated that he clearly wasn't.

John Diggle's calm voice ripped him out of his thoughts. "You know, I spent the first twenty-seven years of my life in Starling City and the next five in Afghanistan. You want to know what I learned?"

Oliver stared ahead, as he said what he was sure would be the pun of this little speech, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "There's no place like home?"

"No," the bodyguard huffed, "just the opposite. Home is a battlefield. Back home, they're all trying to get you. Get you to open up, be somebody you're not sure you are anymore." Oliver felt knowing and searching eyes on him, but he couldn't meet them. He just stared ahead as Diggle continued, "Or I could be wrong. Maybe after five years alone, you're not as messed up in the head as you have every right to be."

For a few seconds they sat there in silence, looking ahead, while Oliver tried to decide how he felt about the undeniable truth of that sentence. He was messed up; he knew he was. But he was the best version of himself he could be right now and he had a purpose and he needed to focus and he needed to reclaim his cool.

The sound of the driver's door slamming shut ended that moment of contemplation. "Where to?" the driver asked from the front.

"Felicity." Strangely that was the first name that came to Oliver's mind. Slowly, he moved his eyes to meet the driver's in the rear-view mirror as he said the first completely honest and true thing of that day. "I need to see my wife."

* * *

><p>Technically, Yongtak was insubordinate. In reality, Yongtak was absolutely right.<p>

"You are way too smart to be so fucking stupid."

It was the truth. Felicity had nothing to say to defend herself. "It was just supposed to be a little fact-gathering. It wasn't supposed to end with that."

The skinny man with the perfectly styled hair looked at her through his huge round glasses. "What kind of facts were you gathering that it ended with that?"

Felicity had been pacing in front of her number one's desk, but now she stopped and looked at the young man sitting behind his desk. "I can't tell you that."

"Fe," he got up from his seat and walked around the desk. "I get that you weren't expecting it to go so far. But hacking from your home-IP, letting somebody piggy-back you..."

"I know..." Felicity sighed. "I _know_, Tak. I was distracted, the stuff I gathered threw me off. It was such a rookie mistake."

"See, that's what I don't believe. And you don't either, because you don't do rookie mistakes, you don't get that distracted." He looked at her with serious eyes. "And you _know_ that. How did you figure out somebody was in your system?"

"It was a little fuzzy. The keys didn't react instantly."

"Fuck!" Yongtak brought his hand to his lips, his index finger and his thumb tugged his lower lip twice before he dimly shook his head. "That's basically nothing. You know that nine out of ten people wouldn't have noticed that. You know what that means..."

"Yes." Worry was darkening her face. "I was so hoping you'd come to another conclusion." But there just wasn't another conclusion: whoever had managed to get past her firewall last night was really, really good. This worried Felicity more than anything. It also made her wonder what exactly Moira had gotten herself into, because all of this involved a level of professionalism that nobody in the QC IT-department had. Some serious skills were needed to pull off what had happened last night and it had caused Felicity to spend hours tossing, turning, and freaking in her bed.

"Did you bring the laptop?"

"Yes, it's in my office."

Yongtak was already moving toward the door of his office. "If there's a trace of him left, I'll find it," he promised and had just opened the door when he stopped dead in his tracks, because he nearly crashed into Jerry.

"Felicity," Jerry said, "your husband's here."

With that statement he turned around and Felicity's eyes moved to where he motioned. And, really, there Oliver came into view as he crested the wide stairs from the ground floor that housed reception, and meeting and break rooms. She realized that the whole coding department, which occupied the second floor, had the perfect view on him—and that indeed all eyes were on him. Yongtak as lead coder had the only office on the floor the other desks were sharing the huge loft-like room. The birch wood tables with the huge screens on top were placed in groups according to the coding teams. A statue of Lulu (Final Fantasy X's coolest character, if you asked the Firestorm-coders, their boss Yongtak, and his boss Felicity) that was taller than Felicity was towering in the middle. At the moment Lulu wore devil's horns—Halloween was coming up after all. Felicity could see Sam and Greg, whose view was blocked by Lulu, try to stretch around the oversized action-figure.

"God," Yongtak breathed now. "If I had a husband like that I'd be distracted, too. Perfect excuse, Fe."

Tak's statement ended Felicity's trance. She realized that she had to do something. She started walking, stepped over the threshold of the office and into view of her employees—not that they noticed her.

"You could at least pretend to be working," Felicity said loudly as she passed through the desks, and she was pleased to see certain people flinch and scramble to do as she had said.

Oliver had, by now, mounted the last step. His eyes landed on Felicity, who sent him a small smile. He returned it, but to Felicity it looked forced. She saw him close one button of his blue jacket, which he had combined with blue jeans and a burgundy dress shirt. It gave his appearance a strange stiffness that seemed deliberate, and she couldn't help but think that he looked very tired.

"Hey, I didn't expect you," she said when she was close enough not to have to shout. She could sense that he was pointedly ignoring all the people watching him by keeping his eyes on her and she could sense something in his gaze, a silent question that she didn't know the answer to.

"I'm sorry to just drop by unannounced," he said. "I thought we might have dinner together."

She glanced at her watch as she stopped opposite him. It was already two o'clock. She looked back up and as their eyes met she knew that there was no way she could say no that his request. She brought a smile to her face. "What a nice idea. I just need to give Tak my fried laptop and I'm good to go."

"Tak. That would be me." Startled, Felicity turned around. She hadn't noticed Yongtak following her. Now he was standing right behind her, holding his hand out to Oliver. "Hey, I'm Yongtak. Where's your handsome bodyguard? I seriously _Digg_ him."

Felicity couldn't help but lean her head back and glance toward the ceiling as she wondered how Yongtak could be such a big cliché.

Oliver shook the outstretched hand. "Hi, I'm Oliver. And Diggle's outside, talking on the phone. We agreed that I was safe in here."

Felicity snorted. "He probably wanted to avoid my shameless lead coder."

Yongtak was unfazed. "It's true what they say: the best men are married or straight." He added a smile that Felicity could only classify as dirty. "Or both."

Felicity was about to react to that, when she saw Oliver suddenly stiffen. Twisting his neck, he focussed on the stairs. For a second he stared down there, then he turned back around, shouting,"EVERYBODY DOWN!"

Felicity hadn't fully registered his words when he threw her to the ground. She landed hard on her back with him above her, when she heard a series of bangs rip through the air. It took Felicity an instant to realize that those sounds were shots. Somebody was shooting at them! She heard glass shatter and people yelling and it was all blending into a cascade of sounds that overwhelmed her. She felt Oliver's heavy body on top of her, but it never felt like he was crushing her. She felt safe, cradled to his chest with his warmth, his scent, so close to her. She didn't realize that she was flinching with each shot. Her body was tense against Oliver's, who now moved. She didn't really recognize what he did, but, suddenly, a deafening silence surrounded them.

It felt like hours to her, but it had most likely only been a few seconds. It all seemed like a trance. As if in slow motion, she felt Oliver move off her and glanced around the room. She saw people picking themselves off the floor, she saw that the Lulu-statue had lost its head and then she saw Oliver's worried face directly in front of her. His lips were moving, she realized. He was talking to her. She blinked once, and a second time, trying to focus, but she was too confused. She felt a hand rest on her cheek. It was this touch, Oliver's touch that began to bring her back. Then she heard his voice, "Felicity."

Strangely, the first thing that came to her mind was that she loved the way he said her name. She had always disliked her name. It was too pretentious—which fit her pretentious mother perfectly. As a child she had always wanted to be a Kate or an Emily or an Anna or any one of those simple and good names. As a child she had always wanted to be ordinary. But Oliver made her name sound special in a way she enjoyed.

And right now he repeated it. "Felicity, are you okay?"

She finally came back to the here and now. "Yes," she blinked and focused on his face that looked so worried. "I'm okay. I think."

He let go of her face and she realized that she was sitting on the floor. She took another glance around the room. She now finally noticed details. Details like the fact that Tak was on the floor next to her. Obviously Oliver had tackled him as well. She saw shards everywhere that had once been furniture or computer screens or coffee mugs. She saw John Diggle standing there with a readied weapon, and she saw a guy lying on the floor with a red puddle collecting around him. "I—" She stopped right there, because she didn't know what to say, how to continue, let alone how to finish that sentence.

"Hey," Oliver's soft voice entered her conscious. "It's okay. You're safe. Nobody was hurt, I think."

That was good news, Felicity reasoned. She nodded and moved to get off the floor. She was the boss, these were her people, and she needed to be there for them. She glanced around the room and called, "Is everybody okay?"

"No."

It was a weak word that came from the other end up the room. It was a female voice and Felicity knew who it belonged to; Samantha Huton wasn't the best coder out there, but she had potential and Felicity had felt like she should give a sister a chance. Females were such a rare breed in the field that Felicity makes a point to hire them when possible and offer them a safe working environment. Still, most of her employees were male and Sam was one of the few exceptions.

Without really noticing what she was doing, Felicity raced to the girl. She heard Oliver call, "Digg, call an ambulance!"

That was the best course of action, Felicity realized, as she saw the girl on the floor, her yellow tank-top turning red.

"Sam," Felicity breathed, pressing her hands to Sam's stomach, where blood was seeping out of her.

She felt Oliver get to his knees next to her. "Here," he said and held something blue out to her.

She grabbed it and pushed it against the wound, making Sam yelp in pain. Felicity's heart was beating up in her throat, but she sent her employee a small smile, pressing the blue something – that she now realized was Oliver's jacket – against her stomach. "It's okay. Help is on the way."

"It hurts," the woman, whose hair was colored in the brightest red possible, whimpered. Confusion was visible on her face as she looked at Felicity. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Felicity answered, but it was only partly true. She had a horrible suspicion that all of this was her fault—because she had made a rookie mistake.

* * *

><p>Felicity was good under pressure. That was Oliver's main realization in the last two hours. He felt a strange sense of pride as he watched her console her employee, as she pressed onto the wound of the younger woman and kept her calm until the ambulance arrived. She took charge, handled the situation, emanating confidence and by that she was really calming all the people around her.<p>

The workers from the top floor – who had only heard the sounds of the shooting had run downstairs as soon as the noise had stopped – had made things even more frantic than they had already been. Felicity had also taken care of that—in the strangest and best way possible: she had given them money and sent them to the diner down the street to go and calm down. It was a weird form of group therapy, but pretty genius in Oliver's eyes.

His secondary realization was that Felicity was obviously good with picking her employees. Yongtak might be unable to check people out subtly – and, boy, was Oliver glad that Diggle seemed to be his main interest – but he wasn't the kind of guy to lose his head either. His first action had been ordering his coders to check on the hardware, inventory what was destroyed and make sure there was no possible security threat to their servers.

A well-known voice ripped Oliver out of his musings. "Oliver Queen. I can imagine why somebody would want to shoot at you."

Keeping his expression blank, Oliver faced Detective Quentin Lance. "An innocent young woman was seriously injured, Detective," he reminded him. Then he climbed even higher on his high horse, "That's hardly a joking matter."

Lance looked like he wanted to slap Oliver, who inwardly enjoyed the other man's agitation a little. "Where's your lovely wife? I need both of your statements."

Turning around Oliver called, "Felicity!" She was standing on the other side of the room, but ended her heated but quiet conversation with Yongtak when she heard her name. "Detective Lance needs our statements."

Oliver was absolutely sure that Felicity hated the prospect of that as much as he did, but she really was good in keeping up appearances in public. "Of course," was her instant reaction. She motioned toward the stairs leading to the third floor. "Let's go to my office. I'll be right there." She glanced around the room, searching for somebody. "Jerry."

"I'm on it," was the immediate answer and again Oliver couldn't help but be impressed with the level of professionalism all those people possessed. The small man in a grey suit, whose rumpled state told tales of the last two hours, appeared next to Oliver. "Mr. Queen, Detective, please follow me."

Jerry, who Oliver knew was Felicity's EA and who had organized an ice-pack for Diggle to cool his hurt hand in minutes, led them up another wide staircase to the upper floor. Another loft-like room waited for them there, but it was lacking the computer-nerd vibe. Instead of posters, which covered the brick walls downstairs, there were paintings that reminded Oliver very much of the ones in Felicity's apartment. Desks in a light wood were again arranged in clusters, but here there were also plants and a sitting area next to a professional-looking coffee machine. It was like they were having their own little Starbucks right there. Jerry led them across the room, past a lone desk and into the closed compartment that was Felicity's office. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." Oliver answered, while Lance only grunted in rejection.

Oliver took a second to glance around the room, to take in the huge windows on the right, the desk with the impressive computer monitor plus a laptop and paper filled with printed out letters and symbols and scales that meant nothing to Oliver. He saw a shelf filled with books and pictures and a sitting area with three colorful chairs placed around a table. This office was so very different from the one his mother had offered him only three hours ago. He found that he would prefer this one—if he were the office-type.

Leaving those thoughts behind, he turned to Quentin Lance. "So, Detective, I hear that congratulations are in order."

The expression on the older man's face switched from confusion to unhappiness in milliseconds. "There really is no need for that."

"Come on, Detective. If a wedding isn't a good reason to party, what is?!"

"As far as I know, for you partying is a good reason to marry."

"Guilty," Oliver smirked. "And look at me now, enjoying the domestic life."

"I don't remember getting shot at being part of the domestic lifestyle."

"Believe me, we will _not _turn this into a part of ours either." Felicity entered the room with quick steps, walked past the men to her desk. She picked up the laptop and handed it to Yongtak, who had followed her. Their eyes met for a second and then Yongtak nodded. "I'll get right on it." With another nod to Lance and Oliver he left the room and closed the door. Oliver's eyes snapped to Felicity, who evaded his glance.

Instead, she motioned to the sitting area. "Please, have a seat."

Oliver let his eyes linger on her a little longer. The laptop had triggered understanding, had caused him to connect what happened here today to what had happened last night and he didn't like that at all. But he realized that Felicity was right: it wasn't the right time to discuss this. With Quentin Lance in the room, it was time to live up to his image. He moved to the seat in the middle and said, "Felicity, did you know that Tommy and Laurel are engaged?"

This sudden change of pace mentally tripped Felicity for a second, but she caught herself quickly. "No, I didn't know. Detective, you must be thrilled."

He wasn't. It was obvious. "At least Merlyn is a step up from that scumbag she dated before him."

"Good point," Oliver said, unfazed, and glanced at the other two people. "I will make sure to mention that in my best man speech."

"Can we get to the topic at hand?" Lance snapped. "Mr. Queen, is there any chance that this shooting might be connected to your abduction last week?"

Again Felicity needed a visible second to catch up. Oliver had a pretty clear idea why this would throw her, she obviously believed the attack to be related to something very different. She frowned at the police officer. "What?"

The Detective's question had also been swirling in Oliver's head. If Diggle had driven the Bentley, Oliver would be sure that nobody had followed them from QC to Firestorm, but Diggle had sat in the backseat next to Oliver, who had been lost in his own thoughts. There was the possibility that somebody had tailed them and that Oliver had been the real target. He looked at Lance and asked, "Detective, isn't that your job? To figure out what's going on here?"

Lance sent Oliver an icy glance that held the potential to freeze hell before he turned his attention back to Felicity. "Did you receive any threats or do you have any idea why somebody would target you, Mrs. Queen?"

Her face held the perfect amount of confusion as she answered, "No, all of this makes absolutely no sense to me."

And that's probably not even a complete lie, Oliver thought and cleared his throat. "We will tighten security in any case. Do you know the identity of the man our bodyguard shot?"

"We're still looking into that," Lance said smoothly, obviously not interested in telling him anything else. He took a pad of paper out. "Now, Mrs. Queen, let's start with what you remember about the attack."

* * *

><p>Sweat was running down her forehead, collecting on her brow and dripping onto her cheekbone. She was drenched, but she just kept on running. Her feet were beating down on the treadmill in a steady rhythm that mixed with the buzzing of the conveyor. Felicity faced the windows. A beautiful sunset was visible behind the glass, the lowering sun painting the sky red, making the high-polished faces of the neighboring buildings sparkle and reflect the vanishing light. But Felicity didn't see it. Her eyes stared into nothingness as her body and her mind raced at full speed.<p>

Yongtak hadn't been able to get anything from her laptop either. She had really hoped that he would be able to pull off a miracle she hadn't been able to perform. She had really hoped to get some answers, had prayed to get confirmation that she had destroyed her laptop in vain, that she had freaked over nothing and that the guy storming into Firestorm shooting at her people, seriously injuring Sam, and apparently fighting with John, had indeed only tried to eliminate bidding competition. That had been Detective Lance's warning: people known as serious bidders in the _Unidac Auction_ had been attacked. She really wished that the detective was right.

But no matter how much she wished for it, there was no proof and the bigger part of Felicity had never expected it because she knew that all of this was her fault. Sam was injured, because she had done a stupid, stupid thing. She was so angry at herself. And she was freaked out by what had happened. Because ultimately it didn't matter why people had tried to shoot her; one simple fact remained: somebody _had_ shot at her.

She could hardly remember any details about it. She hadn't even seen that John had been fighting against a second man, who had apparently escaped by jumping out of the window. It was all a blur of panic and noise, of being pressed against Oliver's chest and a silent prayer.

"Felicity."

She nearly tripped off the treadmill. She grabbed the handles to steady herself, to keep from planting head first into the cockpit. Quickly, she pressed a button and decreased the speed. Her quick running turned into fast walking just as Oliver moved so that she could see him without having to twist her head around.

Oliver had left Firestorm shortly after Lance. There had been no need for him to stay and watch her picking up the pieces of her company. John Diggle had stayed with her, even with his injured hand. Felicity had tried to get John to get medical help, but he had insisted on staying with her and Felicity couldn't help but feel like Oliver was partially responsible for that.

Now he stood looking at her, the window and the scenic sunset behind him, his head slightly tipped to the side. "Digg says you're running for one hour."

"Really?" she asked and noticed how winded she was.

"Really," he answered and then lowered his voice. "We should talk about what you're running from." He didn't wait for her reaction. "Finish up here, I'll order pizza. What do you want?"

"A salad. Tuna."

Oliver nodded. "I love pepperoni, too." Without saying another word, he left the room.

Felicity's hand tightened around the handles of the treadmill. He might have saved her life, but there was absolute no excuse for acting like this. But she knew that it was time to stop running.

She brought her pulse down to a more normal level and dragged her suddenly tired body into the shower. She didn't know how long she stood there, letting the warm water trickle onto her head and take her tears down to the drain. Utter exhaustion, an undefinable fear, and undeniable regret were the combined reason for her clichéd crying in the shower. When she finally wiped the misted up mirror she saw how red her eyes were but decided against applying make-up to cover the evidence. She just toweled her hair dry and put on her nesting doll comfortable pants and a tank top. Her feet were bare as she left the walk-in closet and crossed her bedroom.

About to step into the hall, she heard Oliver's voice. "I'd say thank you, but I don't think that would cover it."

"Like I told Felicity: I was just doing my job." John sounded as calm and collected as always. "Besides, I think I should be thanking you." A moment of silence followed this before John added, as if explaining, "The letter opener."

"I got lucky."

"It was a letter opener, it wasn't weighed properly, but you threw it with accuracy across the room."

"As I said: I got lucky."

It took John an moment to say something to that. When he did, his voice held a certain edge. "I'm not that the kind of man you want to take for a fool." Again he inserted a short pause before he added, "Do you understand, Mr. Queen?"

"Yes." Oliver sounded unaffected.

"And I'm just beginning to understand what kind of man you are."

Oliver's voice was like an audible shrug. "Shouldn't take you very long. I'm shallow."

No, Felicity thought, he really wasn't. But he was obviously dumber than she believed him to be, if he expected John to buy that. Felicity decided that this was a good moment to step into the hall. The two men noticed her instantly and turned to her.

Oliver sent her the barest smile. "You're just in time for the pizza."

Felicity simply nodded.

John Diggle straightened up a little. "Felicity, after what happened today, I think I should stay here tonight."

Felicity shook her head. "No, you're hurt, John. I want you to go home. There's so much security in this building, I think we'll be safe."

"No offense, Felicity, but I could tell you three ways to avoid security in this building—and those are just the ones that don't involve violence. I will stay here tonight. You have a guest room I can use, haven't you?"

Oliver exhaled audibly through his nose and Felicity noticed right in that second that John's eyes were traveling over her neck and right then she remembered the bruises that were perfectly on display. They had somewhat faded but were still very much there. As quickly as they had been created, they only vanished slowly.

Felicity could practically feel Oliver's unease and knew she had to make a statement. "John, if it makes you feel better, you can have the guest room." She saw that Oliver was about to object, but she fixed her eyes on him before he could and sent him the unspoken message that she wasn't afraid of him, that she didn't mind sharing a room with him and that she trusted him not to hurt her again. For a few moments they only looked at each other. Oliver finally nodded. Felicity smiled. "Okay, so, I was promised a pepperoni pizza?"

Oliver motioned toward the main room. "I promised to tell you that Kristina called. She said she'd cancel her date, if you needed her tonight. One text and she's here."

Felicity just shook her head. There really was no need for her best friend to have a crappy night. Somehow the thought of her best friend triggered a memo she had left to herself this afternoon. She turned to Oliver. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you: I hope you don't expect me to go to Tommy and Laurel's wedding. Because that won't be happening."

* * *

><p>The bed brought back bad memories: the look on Felicity's face illuminated by a cracking lightning bolt, her big eyes glancing at him with fear, the realization that his hand had closed around her neck, that he was pressing hard, that he was attacking somebody who had been nothing but kind to him.<p>

In the last years, the only way he had touched another person was with the intent of deceit, of hurting him or defending himself. His reaction to her soft touch had been a well-trained reflex that had saved his life many times, but that now threatened the life of an innocent woman. He had reacted in the best way he knew: he had distanced himself from her physically, had brought space between them, had tried to eliminate the danger that he was posing to her.

But now he was back where he had hurt her. He had seen the glance Felicity had sent him when John had said he would take the guest room. Oliver had understood her unspoken message. She didn't mind sharing a bed with him, but he minded. He couldn't do it. He didn't trust himself to do it.

He heard the bedroom door close behind him. His eyes left the bed he had been staring at and settled on Felicity.

She smiled at him. "Thank you."

Surprised, he blinked at her. "What for?"

"You noticed something was wrong, you warned everybody and that's the only reason why more people weren't hurt. Without you things would have ended much worse, I'm sure." She took a step toward him. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "I had a feeling." Oliver was sure that it sounded dismissive to her, but it was the truth. He couldn't really explain it. He had heard heavy steps coming up the stairs that had transported him back to when he had been working for A.R.G.U.S. A sense of danger had washed through him and triggered automatic actions. It had been everything and nothing, but ultimately it had been correct.

Calculatingly, Felicity looked at him until she just nodded. "However you did it, you saved my life and I'm thankful."

This sentence caused a strange sensation to run through him. It was strange, but nice. The niceness of it caught him off-guard and he felt like he couldn't deal with everything it stirred inside him. So he straightened up a little and said, "You think that what happened today had something to do with your hacking last night?"

Now she was the one caught off-guard. She swallowed heavily before she straightened up, too. "I'm not sure. I think that it's a possibility."

"I need you to tell me what you did and why you believe somebody could be after you."

His voice made it absolutely clear that he expected her to do as he demanded. He needed her to tell him because he still wasn't sure if the shooters had been after her or him. He had dismissed his abduction as unimportant. After all, the kidnappers were dead. They weren't a threat anymore. But now he thought about a possible employer, someone who had paid them to get information out of Oliver; his abductors had asked very specific questions.

If that was the case, it was his fault that the shooting had happened and that Felicity had ended up in the crossfire.

After leaving Firestorm, Oliver had done the only thing he could think of: he had contacted the local Bratvas. If there was a contract on him or if somebody wanted Felicity's dead, they would find out. Sadly, he hadn't heard anything from them yet. They were probably still checking if Oliver really was a Captain.

But if the shooters from today were indeed after Felicity, he needed more information to take out those people who dared to threaten somebody he cared about. He needed Felicity to talk to him.

She didn't; not really, anyway. "I can't tell you. I made a promise and... I can't tell you."

"Felicity," he gave his stiff posture up and moved a step toward her, "how am I supposed to protect you when you don't trust me?"

"But I trust you." The sentence practically flew from her lips. She rushed it out so quickly that she seemed stunned to hear her own voice. But for Oliver, hearing this somehow softened him, because she seemed to be serious about this.

It was such an unfamiliar sensation. Trust had been absent from his life for the past five years. He hadn't really trusted anybody and he was pretty sure that very few people had really trusted him—people like Sara and Shado and Slade. All of them had paid a huge price for their trust in him, the biggest possible.

When Felicity spoke up again, he realized that he was staring at her. "I can't tell you." She spoke quickly. "I wish I could, but then I would betray the trust of somebody I care about. And I won't do that. I'm sorry. Please accept that."

Damn her for being such a trustworthy person!

She tipped her head to the side a little. "Plus, you don't have to protect me. That's John's job, remember?"

Oliver remembered. And he would make damn sure that Diggle never left her side again. The fact that she at least didn't give him a lame lie didn't help to dim his annoyance. "Fine," he practically growled and turned around forcefully. He moved toward the bed and reached for his pillow.

"What are you doing?"

"I plan to sleep next door."

Felicity stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "What? In the closet? No."

"After what happened last time we shared that bed, there—"

"Forget it!" Felicity crossed the distance that separated them and ripped the pillow from his grip. "I told you: I won't have you sleeping on the floor." He inhaled deeply in a way that was mostly a sign of annoyance. He was about object, but she wouldn't let him. "No!" Her voice was strict. "I told you that I trust you, Oliver, and I trust you not to get all spooked again. Get in that damn bed and quit being stupid and difficult!" She hesitated shortly before she added, more quietly, "Unless you plan to go out tonight."

"No. I plan to stay with you tonight." It was the truth. He knew that Diggle was close by, but he still wouldn't leave her alone after what happened today.

"Good," she said, "then stay with me tonight."

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, her eyes daring him to try and not do as he was told.

He didn't dare. "Fine," he said and this time his voice was soft. He motioned toward her. "Can I have my pillow back?"

Smirking, she threw it onto the bed. "Sure." She sent him one last pleased glance and moved around the bed to her side.

Oliver kept from shaking his head and instead reached for his shirt, pulled it over his head and, after a glance around the room, placed it over a chair in the corner. Felicity already climbed into the bed. He was about to unzip his jeans when Felicity spoke up again, "I've been meaning to ask you: why did you come by Firestorm today? You looked really exhausted. Did anything happen?"

He saw her sitting on the bed, looking at him in a way that told him that she was ready to listen to anything he felt like discussing. This afternoon he had wanted to tell Felicity about his mother's expectations he just couldn't meet, but he wasn't in the mood for that anymore. So, he just stuck to the news she needed to know. "Oh, right, yes. I'm opening a club with Tommy in the Glades." Hearing that, a less than thrilled expression crossed Felicity's face. So he added, "My mother hates the idea."

It shouldn't really be possible, but now Felicity looked even less happy. "Damn it," her face twisted in annoyance. "I'd never thought I'd say that, but... I think your mother has a point."


	10. Chapter 9

Let me make this quick and perfectly clear: I have the biggest (platonic but awfully intense) crush on all of you wonderful people. Thank you for being awesome. I am ecstatic that you enjoy this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, too.

The crush I have on the amazing reviewers might even be a little less platonic. A heart-felt thank you to: **BlueJean452**, **livingthefictionallife**, **LachesisBenton**, **HotHybridSex**, **Barrskog**, **CealSR**, **salazarjasam**, **lateVMlover**, **misspsycho24**, **Dark Alana**,** fruitl00p**, **Melmela**, **Evestra87**, **FaberryBRA**, **schrooten5**, **sanrio76**, **haveyoumetmyboyfriendnetflix**, **thekiller00**, **bellapaige88**, **Melcole24**, **scorpio38457**, **coriander72**, **SmoakingQueen**, **Yuyu07**, **NorthernLights25**,** luzanima**, **K-Marie-M**, **mel1804**, **nrdhrd3**, **Ireland1733**, **Luv2Live**, **CaRiNeSs**, **foxxandbeanz**, **LoisLane2012**, **Jen**, **Anonymous**, **Lecholis**, **11-Dino**, **babyshan211** and our guests.

My love and unconditional gratitude to **Albinona**

* * *

><p><strong>October 29th, 2012<strong>

Her best friend had decided that Felicity needed abs.

After the week she'd just had, Felicity couldn't disagree.

The aftermath of the shooting was still weighing Firestorm down. The evidence of it might have been cleaned up – the giant Lulu was greatly missed, but nobody felt like simply replacing her – but it was still on everybody's mind. Felicity had visited Sam in the hospital. The poor woman would heal completely, but she had told Felicity that she wasn't sure she could ever go back to the same place she'd been shot, let alone work there. Felicity hadn't been able to argue with that, but had just told the flaming redhead that she would hold Sam's job for her until she was completely healed anyway. What else could Felicity have done?

Felicity Queen now also had a new shadow called John Diggle. He was following her everywhere but the bathroom—and not for lack of trying. Luckily, he had believed her that she wouldn't "pull an Oliver," as they had lovingly come to call it, and try to escape through the window. Felicity had complained about the constant observation – but not too much, because she liked John and didn't want to hurt his feelings – but Oliver had insisted. Not even Moira had been able to sway him. So Moira had simply organized another bodyguard for Oliver, a man called Rob Scott, who Felicity had never met because every time she saw Oliver he had just ditched the poor guy. Felicity, Yongtak, and John had started a betting pool on how much longer Rob would take Oliver's crap.

John had stopped staying in the guest room after two nights. The third night had also been the first that Oliver had gone out again. Felicity had been nervous on her first night alone—and, yes, at first she had missed the evenings the three of them had spent together, eating pizza, John teaching her self-defense moves, the guys watch football together. That had been wonderfully ordinary. That had been amazingly nice. But by now she was glad that things were back to normal. Because the normality had convinced Felicity that she had freaked over nothing and had blown her little hacking-slip-up way, waaay out of proportion. The best thing to do was to learn from it and to never let it happen again. She planned to seriously do that.

Until now she hadn't told Walter about her findings, because... Well, he was still in Australia. Telling a good friend that you believe his wife to be a money launder wasn't something that you did over the phone. Plus, after the last fiasco she hadn't dared to really look into that again. But she needed solid proof – which meant printouts of the numbers she found – when she talked to Walter. He would be gone at least another week, so she was pushing the proof-gathering back.

And all of that had caused her best friend to come to the conclusion that she needed a girls' night with wine and Vampire Diaries, aka guilty pleasure entertainment with good-looking hunks.

"I can't decide if I like Elena as a vampire," Tina said now and took a huge swig of her wine. "I mean, we're three episodes in, and it still feels iffy to me."

Felicity reached for the bottle. It was a Friday evening, way past midnight, she had tomorrow off, and she was barely tipsy. For a decent girls' night that seemed off. "Maybe," she said, hesitating shortly as she noticed that the bottle was empty. She glanced to her left where Tina sat next to her, comfortably positioned on the couch. "That's because you're not really watching, but thinking about your surgeon."

"We had a great first date," Kristina sighed.

Felicity nodded. "I know. You told me at least five times."

"We had an even better second date."

"With a grand finale," Felicity smirked. "I know—in too much detail."

"And now he's on a date with another woman! And he told me he'd go on a date with her," Kristina drew quotation marks in the air with the hand not holding her wine glass, "'so it wouldn't be weird!'" She emptied her glass in one huge gulp. "How weird is that?"

"He said he had set up the date before you went out the first time..."

"Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not!" Felicity looked at her best friend. "I am _not _defending him," she stressed. "I am merely trying to give you reasons why maybe this is nothing."

"Oh," Kristina reached for the bottle, "it _is_ something! I mean, we never said we'd be exclusive..." She frowned at the empty bottle, before her eyes snapped to her best friend. "I need to get myself a date, too. What about that bodyguard of yours?! He's hot."

"No." Felicity shook her head. "Leave him out of this twisted revenge thing you've got going on here. Plus, he has his own weird thing with the widow of his dead brother."

The brunette smirked. "That's pretty judgmental for a girl who's living in a very platonic roommate-situation with her returned-from-the-dead husband, whom she married in a drunken frenzy in Las Vegas."

"Okay, if you say it like that, it sounds pretty weird. Even if your perfect use of 'whom' is nice."

"Yeah, I always make sure to tease with correct grammar," Kristina winked, before she added fake shock to her face. "I just realized that you're the married one, but I'm getting more action than you do."

"With a slutty surgeon who's dating someone else, too."

Kristina made a dismissive gesture. "Who cares? At least I'm getting some. You, on the other hand, are all work and no play. You need to get somebody to play with."

"You said it yourself: I'm married." Seeing the look on her friend's face, she sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. "I know, you're right. But I'm just not good at casual sex. The only time I had sex with a stranger, I married him first."

Drunkenly, Tina chuckled. "And that's part of the reason why I love you so much." From one moment to the next she turned serious and to her friend. "Then you should play with your hubby."

"I'm too sober for this conversation," Felicity decided and got up to get a new bottle of wine.

"Is that really such a crazy idea?" Kristina insisted now. "You even shared a bed."

Felicity regretted telling her that, because Kristina didn't have all the information to really grasp what that meant. Her best friend didn't know about their first shared night and Oliver's hand around her throat. Felicity had never told her, so she couldn't tell her that sharing a bed with Oliver had mostly been proof of trust. There had been nothing sexy about it. They hadn't touched; both of them had stayed on their respective sides and slept peacefully.

That might be nothing to probably nearly everybody, but it had been a lot to Felicity when she'd seen the visible relief on Oliver's face when he had awoken that first morning. And it had been even better that he hadn't made a fuss the second evening, but had simply slipped under the covers next to her. It hadn't only been about her trusting him that'd buoyed his confidence, but also about him trusting himself. A huge, huge part of her wanted to tell her best friend all that, especially since her already loose tongue had been loosened even more by the wine, but she knew she really shouldn't.

There was only one course of action, Felicity decided: changing the topic. "Forget the getting action. Do you know what I really need? A new housekeeper." Standing in the kitchen, she motioned toward the worktop where cereal bowls and coffee mugs were piling up. "I'm the worst homemaker ever—and apparently Oliver hates doing the dishes, too."

"Shocker," Kristina snorted.

Felicity ignored that – because to be quite honest, apart from the dishes, Oliver was really tidy (most of the mess around was her mess) – and just opened another wine bottle. "I knew that it was stupid to not get a new one instantly, but I just couldn't."

"Hon," Kristina sighed. "I know what Rosa did hurt you, but you've got to shake it off."

"Really?!" Felicity asked and let the bottle opener drop to the worktop. "That's your advice? Shake it off?"

"Yes, shake it off and get a new cleaning lady."

"That's good advice, actually. I'll pitch in." Four surprised female eyes flew to the door where Oliver stood. The faintest smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Felicity's first instinct was to ask him how long he had been standing there, but then she realized that she had said nothing bad, nothing he didn't already know. He was perfectly aware of the fact that they had a very fatal one-night-stand, that she wasn't getting any action, and that her apartment was a holy mess. So she decided to just lift the opened wine bottle. "Not at all. Wine?"

"Yes, hubby!" Kristina said and waved him over to the couch. "Come join us. I could use a male perspective."

"On what?" Suspicion was audible in Oliver's voice as he walked over. Before he sat down on the other end of the couch, he shortly glanced at Felicity, "Thanks, no wine for me."

Kristina held her glass out for Felicity to refill it and said, "So, you're a guy..."

"I am a guy," Oliver confirmed.

"Yes, now imagine you're a guy going on two dates with this girl."

"Great dates," Felicity clarified as she sank down on the huge seat next to the couch and placed her feet on the coffee table.

"Yes, two _great_ dates. But then you call the girl and tell her that you want her to know that you're going on a date with another girl, because this date is planned for a veeeeery long time and you'd feel weird to just cancel, because the other, the second girl, is really looking forward to it." Kristina turned to Oliver and placed her whole attention on him. "What does that mean?"

Oliver blinked at her. "I honestly have no idea."

Annoyed, Kristina threw her hands up, nearly spilling her wine all over the couch. "You're no help at all!"

"I'm not the expert on dating. I haven't had that many dates in my life."

"You're right," Kristina sighed. "You're both useless. I probably have the most dating expertise in this room." Suddenly her eyes lit up and she motioned between Oliver and Felicity. "And it's my expert opinion that you two should go on a date."

Felicity rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious. I would look good to the press, but it would also do you two good."

"Oliver will go to the _Unidac_ auction with me tomorrow."

"That's not a date," Kristina dismissed, "that's an official function. That doesn't count. Hey!" The brunette looked visibly proud with what she would say next. "He should come to Firestorm's Halloween party on Sunday. That would be awesome." Her index finger pointed at Oliver. "Costumes are mandatory."

"I don't play dress-up," Oliver clarified.

"It's Halloween. On Halloween no one plays dress-up; you get ready for the drinking."

"You're drunk right now," Felicity countered. "I don't take advice from drunk people." She met Oliver's amused gaze and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, do what you want. Oh!" Now Kristina gestured toward the TV where the recorded vampire show was still playing. "But that's something you're an expert on. Please tell me, how does Damon Salvatore get such amazing abs?"

"Weight training."

"Okay," Kristina stared at him blankly, "if you want to continue participating in girls' night you have to do better than that, hubby."

"What do you want me to say?"

Felicity leaned back in her seat while she watched her best friend and her roommate, who she was married to, banter. Or rather: she watched her best friend banter and her roommate/husband try to keep up. After a stressful week, this was the best way to relax.

Ninety minutes later the concierge called to tell them that Kristina's taxi had arrived. When Felicity returned to the main room she found Oliver filling the dishwasher. She couldn't help but smirk, "You heard me complain about the state of the apartment."

He glanced at her shortly. "I did," he admitted and closed the dishwasher as the last inch of space was filled with a dirty something. "And you're right. I should do my part to keep your apartment clean."

"Our apartment," she corrected, before she even registered what she was saying. "I mean, you pay your share of the rent and I want you to feel like you're home here. You're obviously more than a houseguest, and we both know that, really, I'm the messy one. You live here, and you should feel relaxed, and..." She didn't know how to say it correctly, she sighed and just said, "This is your home if you want it to be."

He smiled the barest smile. "Thank you."

She nodded, returning his smile.

"I will get us a new cleaning lady," he said.

"Yes! Please!" she exaggerated with a laugh.

For a few seconds he looked like he enjoyed her reaction, but then he turned serious again. His face all business, he took a few steps toward her. "I have another favor I need to ask you."

"Sure," she said.

He reached for a laptop bag that stood by the couch and that Felicity, in her lightly buzzed head, hadn't noticed before. He opened the bag and held a black laptop out to her, "There's information on it that I need. And you're the only computer genius I know. Is there any way you could get that thing running again?"

For a second Felicity was sure that the red wine circling her system was making her see things, but even after blinking three times the view did not change. Her eyes filled with disbelief and she glanced up at him. "Are these bullet holes?"

They were standing opposite to each other, an arm length separating them, but right in that moment Felicity felt like there was a canyon between them, because what was he doing with a laptop that had obviously been shot?

"Yes," he answered her question.

How could he be so casual about this, Felicity wondered? She had a lot of computer parts with bullet holes in them at Firestorm and they seriously freaked her out. "How did it happen?"

"I can't tell you." Felicity had already opened her mouth to tell him that that really wouldn't do, when he kept on talking, "I made a promise and... I cannot tell you."

"Damn it!" The words left Felicity's mouth before she could stop them. It was supposed to be quiet, mental cursing, because he had used her own words against her, but, of course, she would let it slip. She pressed her lips together to keep any other words from slipping out.

"If it makes you feel better I can just say that I spilled a latte over it." It was supposed to be a joke, she knew, but she didn't find that funny right now. Her distain was clearly visible on her face. Oliver tipped his head and looked at her carefully. "You said you trust me, Felicity. Trust me that I wasn't the one shooting at the laptop."

Their eyes met—and instantly all doubt left her. The sober part of Felicity waved an orange flag of worry because one glance shouldn't be enough to settle this. But, strangely, it was. It was enough to look into his eyes, see the expression there, his silent request, and come to the conclusion that she owed him one. She hadn't told him anything about her own laptop after she had drowned in Diet Coke.

"Do you need this now?" she asked.

"If you're still up to it."

She nodded slowly. "Let me get my stuff—and a glass of water."

If she hadn't drunk so much wine she could have been quicker. Her usually flawless typing skills were lacking, but finally she managed to display the files stored on the hard drive, which thankfully had not been hit by a bullet, on her own laptop. She was just about to open the first file when her cellphone rang. Startled, she flinched. She reached for the phone that rested next to her on the dining room table and saw an unknown number blinking in the display. "It's three a.m.," she wondered and debated whether to answer or not. After the fourth ring she gave in, "Yes?"

"Thank God, I was afraid I'd hafta call mom."

"Thea?" Her eyes snapped to Oliver, who sat next to her and took his eyes off the display. "Where are you?"

"In jail." She giggled drunkenly and slurred the words with her heavy tongue. "Can ya come an' get me? Bring bail."

"Bail? What are they charging you with?" That question caused Oliver to sit up straight and narrow his eyes.

"Dunno, I was just tryin' on dresses."

"I don't think I'm good to drive, but Oliver's presentable. He'll come to the station and get you home."

"Noooo," Thea whined into the phone. "That's why I called yoooouuuu. I don't want him to come. He so judge-y." Felicity heard a male voice in the background telling Thea that her time was up. And, really, Thea could barely ask Felicity to come along with Oliver before the line went dead.

Slowly, Felicity let the phone sink. "This evening is just getting better and better. Let's go and pick your sister up from jail."

* * *

><p>Oliver Queen was an angry man. He had enough self-awareness to admit that. He was angry at many things and many people – too many to name, actually – but in the middle of everything, the rage that everything else circled around, was a deep and unforgiving anger at himself. It was a general enragement that Oliver had gotten used to in the last years; it was a steady companion that followed him everywhere.<p>

But right now it was joined by a new kind of anger that felt strangely foreign to him: it was a weird kind of disappointment that mixed with disbelief and an unwelcome version of deja-vu. Because, really, he had been there. He himself had been fetched from the police station many times, too many times. It was one of the numerous things he despised about himself: his reckless past.

But at least back when his parents had collected him from a holding-cell, he had had the decency to act guilty and ashamed, even if it was just that… an act.

Thea on the other hand didn't seem to care. She sat in the backseat of his car and told Felicity about the cute dress she had tried on in the store—in the store she had broken into. Oliver really couldn't believe that he was witnessing Thea acting like this; it was so disappointing, because it hit too close to home.

For twenty minutes he sat in the driver's seat, his hands so tightly closed around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white, and listened to his drunken sister talk shit. There was no other way to say it, because nothing useful had left her lips since the cop had lead her to them from where Oliver knew the cells were.

The only thing that had worked in his advantage had been the fact that Detective Quentin Lance had the evening off. Oliver really hadn't been in the mood for another encounter with him.

Oliver felt Felicity's eyes on him. She sat next to him in the passenger's seat and hadn't said anything in the last twenty minutes either. Oliver noticed her glance, but he didn't acknowledge it. He couldn't. It took everything he had to hold on to the last edges of his patience. But he was losing his grip and getting closer to exploding with every minute that passed and with every word that Thea said.

And, boy, she was still talking, "Fellily... Fecity... Damn, I ne'er noticed... Your name is haaaard."

_Only if your tongue is weighed down by alcohol_, Oliver thought as he palmed the steering wheel.

"Thea," Felicity reacted for the first time, turning in her seat, "how much did you drink?"

"Dunno," Thea shrugged. "Max let me into the VIP area. Drinks there are free."

"Of course," Felicity muttered under her breath, "because VIPs aren't usually the loaded kind with money to pay for drinks. I never got free drinks when I was your age and partying." Catching herself, she cleared her throat and returned her attention to Thea, saying, louder this time, "Max? Who's Max?"

_Good question_, Oliver thought, because he'd really like to know.

"Max Fuller. He owns a club called Poison."

It shouldn't be possible, but Oliver managed to further tighten his grip on the steering wheel as he turned the car into the long driveway leading to Queen Mansion.

Max Fuller; Oliver had bad history with him—no, actually, Oliver had the worst history with him. Another awful story of his awful past: he had slept with Fuller's fiancée at their rehearsal dinner. Yeah, that was one seriously low point in a tale that was very low to begin with. Was this Fuller's way to get revenge? An ice cold shiver raced through Oliver and he stepped on the brake way stronger than necessary. "Did Max try anything with you?" Oliver practically growled at Thea, who looked honestly taken aback.

She frowned until she understood what he meant. "Ewww! NO! He's like nearly thirty."

Felicity bit back a smile. "Yeah, Oliver! Eww! He's practically _dead_."

Oliver wasn't in the mood. He shot around to face his sister. "Get out of the car!"

His voice was so harsh that Thea followed his barked order instantly. He had just reached for the door handle himself, when Felicity's soft voice stopped him, "Oliver, you should go easy on her. We've all done stupid things after drinking too much."

For a short moment their eyes stayed connected, but the softness in her eyes didn't calm him. He didn't want to be calmed.

He was angry and for once he felt like it was a very righteous anger.

Together all three of them entered the mansion and right there in the entrance hall stood his mother, dressed in her nightgown, covered by a delicate robe, with her arms crossed over her chest.

Her head held high, Thea met their mother's gaze. "Mom," she said and just the way she said that one word was enough to make it obvious how drunk she still was. "You didn't hafta wait for me." She motioned up the stairs, "I know the way."

Moira Queen looked unaffected. "Last time it was public intoxication. This time it's breaking and entering. My, how we are moving up in the criminal world."

Thea smirked in a way that made Oliver even angrier. "You know," Thea said, "when you pay off the store owner you should really check out their merand, merchise... their stuff. They got some killer outfits."

"Thea, go to bed."

"On my way." Thea grinned one last time and started climbing up the stairs.

Oliver couldn't believe it. He stared at his mother. "That's it?"

"Your sister is drunk. This is not the time to have a serious discussion."

Oliver straightened up and took a step toward his mother. "Did you have a serious discussion with her last time the police brought her home? When she was sober again, did you ground her?" His mother didn't have to say anything, the answer was on her face. "She's testing you!" Oliver insisted.

"Yes. Who did she learn that from? When your sister is this way it's best to give her some space."

His eyes hard, his lips pressed together, and he stared at his mother. He knew what she was suggesting, what she was accusing him of without really saying it. But this wasn't his fault. His sister acting like that, being like that, wasn't his fault. He would take the blame for many things, but not for that! The fact that his sister was following in his footsteps, walking down a path he didn't want her to be on, was not his doing. And for once he wasn't willing to take on yet another burden. His voice reflected his anger when he said, "When I was her age, you and Dad let me get away with murder. Looking back, I could have used less space and more parenting."

"Are you saying that I was a bad mother?!" It was a rhetoric question, which became absolutely clear when his mother closed the space between them, her silk robe flowing behind her as she took forceful steps. "I did everything in my power to protect you!" Her eyes were shooting daggers at Oliver. There was a fire in the way she looked at him, an expression on her face that he had never seen before. Both rooted him to the spot. "I have devoted myself to keeping this family safe. Alone. When people out there were trying to hurt us. I cleaned up after you time and time again."

"I never asked you to clean up after me!" Oliver shot back.

"You didn't have to. I'm your mother. It's what mothers do: protect their children from their own mistakes, love them despite everything. And I always loved you despite all the stupid things you did. I loved you—and then you left me! You and your father, the two men in my life I cherished most. I had to _bury_ you! And then I had to bury your son! The little ray of hope that we were granted." He saw his mother glance past him to where he knew Felicity stood, before she settled her gaze back on her son. "He was ripped from us! Like you were! Like Robert was! So, excuse me, Oliver, if I don't live up to your expectations of what a mother should be, but I can't give more than I have. And I've always given everything." With that she turned around and walked up the stairs.

Oliver followed her with his eyes, his heart beating up to his chest while trying to sort out what he was feeling. Breathing heavily, he glanced up to the top of the stairs. Moira was walking past Thea. Oliver hadn't noticed that she was still there. He met the big eyes of his sister and suddenly he realized that the anger he had felt until now had never been righteous. Suddenly the rage that was a hot burning ball inside him heated up even more, because he once again realized: he was just such a self-righteous ass.


	11. Chapter 10

I must admit: I've been looking forward to posting this chapter. I'm really, really curious to hear (read) what you think about it. So, I don't want to drag this out. You know how much I love all your amazing feedback and support. If you don't: I love it A LOT. You're all brilliant. Thank you!

Also there are my reviewers who excel at brilliance: **BlueJean452**, **HotHybridSex**, **Evestra87**, **Barrskog**, **CealSR**, **NorthernLights25**, **misspsycho24**, **bellapaige88**, **babyshan211**, **Dark Alana**,** ChiefPam**, **lateVMlover**, **Yuyu07**, **thekiller00**, **WinterRain36**, **Ireland1733**, **coriander72**, **FaberryBRA**, **farahsbc**, **nrdhrd3**, **foxxandbeanz**, **thisloveistreacherous**, **farmgirl194**, **mjf2468**, **livingthefictionallife**, **sanrio76**,** Luv2Live**, **schrooten5**, **K-Marie-M**, **luzanima**, **Jen**, **andy**, **scorpio38457**, **Mysou13**, **ackennedy7**, and the guest. I cannot thank you enough.

All my love to **Albiona**! Thank you for everything. (We'll see if your predictions regarding this chapter are correct. But you know I completely trust your judgement.)

* * *

><p><strong>October 30<strong>**th****, 2012**

What good was a husband returning from the dead, if he ditched you when you actually needed him? If that was Oliver's version of help, he might as well have stayed dea—

Damn it! Felicity couldn't finish that thought. Not even in her own head. Not after she had seen multiple people telling him that they wished that he would have really died. Oliver had taken all those insults as if they didn't mean a thing, but they had to hurt.

There was already so much hurt inside Oliver; it was more than enough. Felicity knew. She couldn't have possibly missed it last night when he had turned around after the fight with his mother. It had been there in his eyes, pain and anger. On the ride home, Felicity had tried to talk to him, but he had just snapped at her and then fallen quiet.

Silence was the main problem the Queens were facing.

The lack of communication was tearing this family apart. They were all so wrapped up in hiding behind their public fronts – the competent matriarch, the careless and aloof son, the reckless and easy-going daughter, the heartless and unaffected daughter-in-law – that they forgot to show each other their real selves. Last night Felicity had been reminded of the real Moira, of the woman who had held her hand while she had given birth, who had taken the picture of her holding Jonas that one time, whose tears had fallen onto her grandson's face as she had whispered loving words to him. Moira Queen was a mother; she had many flaws, but Felicity truly believed that she cared about her family, about Oliver and Thea and Walter and some of the care even extended to her, Felicity.

Did that mean that a caring mother couldn't also be a money-launder?

Hell no! But it meant that Felicity had to be careful with any kind of accusation, because no matter how much she sometimes wished that it wasn't the case: the Queens were her family now. She was part of this family, and she had to protect them all.

Before she had finally crawled into bed around six in the morning, she had decided that she would be the one to end the silence in her home. She would talk to Oliver, try to convince him that a family dinner was a good idea, that all the Queens needed to get together and for once not save face and keep up appearances, but to actually talk. Felicity was one hundred percent sure that that would most definitely help Thea more than Moira grounding her. That girl didn't need more discipline, as Oliver thought. She needed more attention from somebody who wasn't paparazzi.

That resolution had gone out of the window when Felicity had woken up again and Oliver was nowhere to be found. That had been around noon. Since then, seven hours had passed in which Felicity had nursed her anger.

And, hell, was she angry at him! He had promised he'd go to the auction with her! He had promised he'd be there—and he was nowhere to be found. Once again, she was faced with a judging crowd, alone, with the stares full of pity or gratification, because the Queen Bitch – yeah, she knew about the nickname people liked to call her, it was very hard not to – was standing there all by her lonesome.

Next time Oliver asked her to go anywhere with him he could _forget it_. She had gone to his resurrection-bash, she had faced all of that for him, so she really thought he could have sucked it up for one evening and look dashing in a suit while standing next to her! That wasn't too much to ask, was it? The looking handsome came kind of naturally to him anyway.

Oh, yeah, he was handsome, but he was also an unreliable jerk, who thought it would be okay to send her a text ("Something came up. Sorry") instead of – for once – supporting her.

Felicity was pretty sure that the laptop had something to do with it. The laptop riddled with bullet holes that she had hooked onto her own new one. Thea's call had distracted her, she had never gotten around to looking at the files. But this morning the laptop had been gone along with Oliver. If she saw him tonight, he could so—

"Felicity Queen, always a pleasure to see your beautiful face."

Since Felicity was in a very public place all her defenses had been up, which was the only reason why she kept from flinching and groaning at hearing that voice. "Palmer," she said casually as she faced the last man who had broken her heart. No, that was wrong. Ray Palmer had not just broken her heart; he had thrown it to the floor, trampled on it until there seemed to be nothing left. But Felicity had picked up the pieces and gotten her self back together, and she refused to let this guy affect her. She forced herself to meet his eyes. "Didn't I tell you that I'd rather jam a fork in my eye than be faced with you again?" Okay, not as unaffected as she had hoped.

He pointed his index-finger at his face. "And never see this again?! Look at this handsome bone structure!"

She had always loved how easy-going he was. Ray Palmer had always made her laugh; it was part of the reason why she had fallen in love with him. But the jokes and the banter and the easy smile had covered up his real self—and discovering that had been painful. The guy she had found there was awful. She hated that guy, the real Ray Palmer.

That made it easy for her to just stare at him coldly. "Never sounds perfect."

She brushed past him and kept moving away, grabbing a delicate champagne flute from a waiter's tray without slowing. She had taken the tiniest sip to keep up appearances when she noticed John Diggle. He stood in the background, observing the crowd, like the perfect bodyguard he was. Even if Oliver was MIA, John was there. At least one man didn't abandon her. Not that she was in any danger in the building, it was so heavily guarded. For some strange reason even Detective Lance and many of his colleagues had spread out strategically across the room. Somehow their presence seemed odd to Felicity. This might be an auction, but it wasn't like there was the threat of a robbery, because today a company was up for bid—it would be really hard to pocket that and make a run for it.

Felicity glanced at her watch, twenty minutes until the auction. When she looked back up, she was faced with Doris van Sutton, one of Moira's friends, who stood in front of her all of a sudden. "Felicity, what a pleasure. It's been too long since we saw each other."

With fake joy she greeted the older woman with fake kisses. "Doris, it's nice to see you. Is Gregory here for the auction?"

"Of course," the woman, whose brunette bob was styled impeccably, smiled for a second, before she turned solemn and reached for Felicity's left hand. "I am so happy for you. You must be thrilled about Oliver's unexpected return."

She would be thrilled if Oliver unexpectedly showed up, but she knew that he wouldn't. And she had done this sort of thing more times than she could count, and she wasn't the type of girl that wanted to be saved by a man anyway, so she just smiled her perfect Felicity Queen smile. "Yes, thank you. It's been a gift."

Doris van Sutton nodded in understanding and added, "A blessing." Then she glanced around the room. "Where _is_ Oliver?"

Ahh! Doris had gotten to the main point of the conversation in under one minute. Felicity's smile stayed in place, and she had just opened her mouth to tell a perfectly polite lie when suddenly she saw somebody run at her out of the corner of her eyes. She was about to turn her head, when she felt somebody tackle her. There was no other word to describe it. John ran into her full force and threw her to the ground as a loud bang ripped through the air.

That was the moment when all thoughts left Felicity's head—all but one: _Not again!_

* * *

><p>He had been too late! Too late to take the assassin out before he could take his first shot. There had been too many access points to cover them all, too many good positions to get a perfect shot at the assassin, which was why he had gotten Lance involved. But Oliver hadn't been able to stand by, hadn't been able to just wait and see where the shot would come from—a shot that might be directed at Felicity, because she was known to be one of the most serious bidders in the auction. He had checked the most likely spots Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, might chose. But he had been too late. He had already fired once before Oliver had gotten to him.<p>

The fight had been fast and furious, bullets spraying everywhere from that strange little firearm the killer had strapped to his wrist. The man had dared to say that Oliver and him were in the same business; the business of killing. The irony that Oliver had vehemently denied that only to then put an arrow in Lawton's eye was not lost on Oliver.

He stood there, still breathing heavily, when he suddenly heard shots echoing through the street. With quick steps he moved to the window Deadshot had cut a perfect hole into for his sniper rifle. What Oliver saw made the blood in his veins freeze.

Through the huge glass windows of the Exchange Building directly opposite Oliver could see a masked man holding Felicity, pressing her back against his front, while he pointed a gun at her head. The man was dragging Felicity along, making her walk up the stairs with him. Oliver had to watch the guy pull her into something that looked like a luxurious office and lock the door behind him. Diggle as well as Detective Lance were in pursuit, Oliver saw that. And he saw that Diggle was limping.

There was no way Oliver would stand there and watch from the other side of the street. Without thinking any further, he reached into his quiver.

A few seconds later Oliver was gliding down a rope toward the man who was throwing Felicity against a huge wooden desk. With his gun he motioned toward a seat placed in front of it.

Oliver could see his lips moving—then he crashed through the window and rolled off over his shoulder. He stood tall in the next moment, bow drawn and an arrow aimed at the man who was wearing a red skull mask with bright white teeth. The sight was very, very familiar to Oliver: it looked just like the one his kidnapper had hidden behind. His dead kidnapper.

But, the masked man had reacted quickly and grabbed Felicity. The gun was pointing at her temple, pressing into her skin. "Move back or I'll blow her brains out!" the man threatened and took a step backward away from the guy in the dark green hood.

"Let her go," The Hood threatened and took a step forward, limiting the space again. He placed his attention on the masked man, because the expression on Felicity's face was too distracting. Fear shone in her eyes, her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, but she made no sound as she stared ahead, right at The Hood.

"This is none of your business," the man with the gun said.

Oh, it was Oliver's business! The very notable mask and the fact that that guy dared to point a gun at somebody he cared about made it very much his business. But, of course, he wouldn't tell him that. Instead The Hood repeated his demand to "Let her GO," with even more aggression in his voice.

The other man took another step back instead. "I just need the bitch to tell me what she knows about that island trip of her deadbeat husband and you can have her."

There! It couldn't be more his business! "This is your last warning," The Hood growled. "Let go of her or die!"

Laughter came from behind the mask. "Really?! And how do you plan to kill me when I'm using this bitch as my shield?!"

The Hood wasn't the kind of guy who added a lame-ass comment like "Let me show you" to the conversation—that was a waste of air, time, and the element of surprise. Instead, he released the bowstring and sent the arrow directly into the man's eye. It was the second time he had made that shot today—in total it was the third time he had taken someone's eye, but who was counting? The force of the hit made the masked man stumble backward, loose his footing, and fall back toward the huge window.

He was still holding on to Felicity.

As soon as he saw the guy lose his balance, The Hood moved. He crossed the distance with quick and long strides and ripped Felicity from the other man's grasp so forcefully and aggressively that she crashed into his chest. Out of reflex he held on, cradled her to his body. His left arm wrapped around her back and his right flew to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her blond hair, keeping her face pressed to his chest and angled away from his face. The sound of a crashing window, of shards exploding all over the room, was followed by a moment of silence and then a dull thud that came with the finality of a human body hitting hard ground.

Without really noticing what he was doing, he hugged Felicity to him even stronger. It was an unconscious act, the tightening of his grip, triggered by his relief that she was unharmed, but he felt her stiffen against his body. He realized how strange it must seem to her. He realized that he had no business touching her like that—not in general, but especially not when he was hooded. He had purposely made sure that her head was turned away, that she wouldn't see up his hood. His now dead opponent had never bothered to turn on the lights. The only illumination was provided by the surrounding buildings, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Felicity's stiffening was enough for him to let go of her instantly. He took two steps back and kept his head lowered so that his hood was covering the whole upper half of his face. He heard Felicity take a deep breath and knew that she would say something. His best guess was to expect a very agitated babble.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me! This is how you spent your nights?! And I thought you were fucking around!"

Okay, he hadn't expected_ that_. He needed a second to really take in her words, to grasp what they meant and that he wasn't mistaken, but when he did he felt a cold sensation race through him that was followed by a hot one, making his cheeks burn.

In his shock his head shot up. Instantly, their eyes met and hers were glaring angrily at him. "Oh, buddy, wait 'til we get home! We'll _so_ have a long discussion about this!"

He stared at her completely dumbfounded for a second, but the door crashing open spurred him into action. He reached for another rope-arrow, aimed it out of the broken window. Detective Lance's voice rang through the room ordering him to "FREEZE!" as he jumped.

* * *

><p>If the members of the old men's club thought they could screw her over, because she was female and young and dyed blond, they hadn't met Felicity Queen yet. Those distinguished men with the perfectly tailored suits and the monogramed cufflinks and the golden Mont Blanc at the ready had tried to fleece her, use the fact that she had been held at gunpoint by some maniac with a mask. They had insisted that the auction had to take place as scheduled, had believed her to be too rattled to get it together and be a serious bidder.<p>

That made Felicity even angrier—and there had already been enough anger clashing through her. They had believed they could take advantage of her vulnerable state after a traumatic experience, but they had only achieved the exact opposite. In moments like these, when the pressure was high and people expected her to fail, when she was on public display and judged, her resolve was strongest. Her nickname was hard earned and she had showed them not to try to outmaneuver the Queen Bitch. Because what had happened tonight wasn't even close to the really traumatic stuff she had experienced, and those old bastards could go _suck it_!

Not bothering to wait for any fake congratulations by the defeated bidders, she left the huge auction room. She had just turned around the corner, when her eyes connected with Oliver's. He had been standing on the other side of the room, wearing jeans and his brown jacket, but now he was moving toward her. Keeping the unaffected facade in place, she headed toward him, too, but she also noticed Detective Lance approaching from the other side.

Right now Felicity wasn't sure which one of them she wanted to speak to less.

"You went back to the auction?" Oliver asked while walking toward her.

"They tried to pull one over on me. My bet is on Gregory van Sutton. I bet it was his idea. But they chose the wrong day to mess with me." Felicity said as they both took the last steps and stopped opposite each other. "Queen Consolidated is now the proud owner of _Unidac Industries. _And we even paid less than Walter was willing to. I think he'll be very pleased. I agree with him that UI will be a real asset and strengthen the Science Division. Alternate power—you can't go wrong with that. Clean energy, who could be opposed? Saving the planet and all that..." Sometime during the last two sentences Felicity realized that she was babbling and she forced herself to stop talking.

Oliver brought his hand up to her shoulder. "Are you okay?" Worry was visible in his eyes, and Felicity couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was worried about: about her or about her telling people what she had learned approximately one hour ago.

She was collecting every last bit of willpower she could muster to harden her defenses again. Still, all she could bring herself to say was, "I guess so."

"Mrs. Queen, didn't I hear you say that you didn't want to turn getting shot at into a habit?"

Detective Lance's statement was scraping at her willpower. "How is it my fault when other people turn shooting at me into a habit?"

"Maybe you're hanging out with the wrong crowd," the detective said, his eyes on Oliver, who visibly stiffened.

"Is there anything you wanted, Detective, apart from acting like an asshole?"Felicity spat.

Damn it! There went her willpower. Felicity couldn't believe that she had actually let that comment slip, that stupid comment. She was supposed to be better than this, better at keeping up appearances. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and placed her attention on Lance. "I apologize, Detective. That was uncalled for. I'm having a bit of a day."

Quentin Lance pursed his lips, but then he nodded. "Fine, let's just get this over with. I need your statement."

"Can't that wait?" Oliver asked and brought his hand to Felicity's back. "She's been through enough today."

That was another statement that made Felicity wonder. Was he serious? Or was he just playing the caring husband? Was he worried about her or about what her statement would entail?

But she couldn't dwell on that, she refused to dwell on that. "It's okay," she said, directed at Oliver, before she addressed Lance. "I was talking to Doris van Sutton, a friend of the Queen family, when our bodyguard, John Diggle, threw me to the ground. Then I heard a shot."

"Just one?"

"Yes, one. I realized that John had been hit." She glanced at Oliver. "Did you hear anything from the hospital yet? The ambulance left before the auction started."

Oliver nodded. "Yes, he'll be fine. The wound itself wasn't bad, but apparently the shooter laced his bullets with some kind of poison. They want to monitor him overnight, but he should be good to go home tomorrow."

Relief flooded Felicity. The idea of John getting seriously injured or worse, because he had been protecting her, the thought of her being responsible for that – like she had been responsible for Sam getting hurt – was distressing. Plaguing. But that was another thing she couldn't debate now. "Thank God," was all she said before returning to her original tale. "I got off the floor and called for somebody to get an ambulance, when somebody grabbed me from behind and waved a gun around, ordering everybody to stay back."

"Did you see his face?"

She gave Lance a very pointed look. "No, he was wearing a mask. You should know, you were there."

"I meant later."

"No, he had the mask on the whole time. But I'm sure he'll be easy to identify, now that he's dead."

Lance pursed his lips again. "When you were alone with him, did he say anything?"

"He told me to sit down."

"And?"

She shrugged. "I never did, because then a guy in a hood crashed through a window."

"Ahh," Lance said, "finally, the interesting part."

"That's the interesting part?" Felicity asked, annoyed. "Sorry, that a guy pointing a gun at me isn't enough to keep your interest." Her passive-aggressiveness wasn't helping, she knew, but couldn't stop it.

"What did the guy in the hood do?" Lance asked.

"He aimed an arrow at the masked guy and told him to let me go."

"The masked man was holding you?"

"Yes, he was using me as a shield, which he told the hooded guy, who reacted by putting an arrow in his eye. The force caused him to fall out of the window. And then you banged in and the hooded g— I'll just go ahead and call him The Hood, that's shorter. He jumped out of the window."

"That's it? The Hood didn't talk to you?"

"Oh, good, it's already catching on. No, he didn't say anything."

Lance looked at her intently. "Did you recognize him?"

Felicity shook her head. "No."

"Did he seem familiar to you?"

"No."

"Then why is it," Lance asked, his voice harsh and a little louder than before, "that he comes around every time a member of the Queen family needs help?" His eyes snapped to Oliver. "First he saves you, then your wife, but he puts arrows in other members of Starling City's one percent. Why?"

"That's a question you have to ask him and not us, Detective." Oliver answered, his voice even. "And I think that's enough."

"I am not done yet," the detective retorted. "I have more questions."

"You will have to ask them some other time. And when you do, keep in mind that you're talking to a victim here, and not the offender." Oliver was calm and collected again, an aura of aloofness and ease around him. His hand gently pressed against the small of Felicity's back, indicating for her to get moving. "Please, excuse us. My wife and I will go home now."

* * *

><p>They didn't go home. Instead, he brought her to the Glades—on a motorbike. Felicity had always believed them to be kind of sexy. The idea of riding one of those while holding on to the male biker had held a certain appeal that had been founded by romantic images invented by movies and TV shows. The speed, the closeness to another body, the hands resting on somebody's stomach that equaled safety, all of that had sounded amazing.<p>

In theory.

In practice it was awful.

The reasons for this were diverse. It started with the fact that, even though Oliver had given her his brown jacket to shield her from the wind, she was still wearing a short dress, and she had to figure out a way to get on the motorbike without flashing her underwear to the paparazzi. It continued with the realization that she had never appreciated safety belts enough. She clung to Oliver in a way that was neither sexy nor comfortingly close; it was a grip of pure panic, with her fingers digging into him. Her steel grip caused Oliver to use the time stopping at a red light gave him to bring his own hands to her arms. He turned to her and told her to "relax."

But she couldn't. She couldn't even relax when they finally arrived, because that was the moment she realized that she was standing in front of the old QC steel factory in the Glades. Why the hell would he bring her here?! Taking the helmet from her, he motioned for her to follow him. Silently, they walked past the industrial ruin that towered over them. Somehow Felicity felt like she should say something, but she honestly couldn't think of one thing that seemed adequate.

She would lie if she said there weren't traces of worry inside her, because there were. She was worried about where he was taking her, about why they were here. She was worried about that, but she wasn't worried about what he would do. There was absolutely no doubt within her: he wouldn't hurt her.

And, yes, she was also worried that she felt so confident in him.

In silence they walked, until he led her into the factory, past pipes and long-useless machines. The whole scenery felt strangely lifeless, only illuminated by the full moon. Felicity was glad for the cold light it provided, because the ground was uneven and cracked and definitely not made for high heels. She followed him around a corner and down metallic stairs that rattled under his feet and clicked under hers. The moon light even found its way down here, but suddenly a loud crack rang through the room and as it echoed back from the cold bare walls electric lights flickered on.

Felicity blinked. The sudden brightness was one reason for that, the other was that she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Because there were desks down here, filled with laptops and screens and some serious high-tech equipment. There were machines, whose names she didn't know, but it was obvious that he used them to make arrows. It was obvious, because they were lined up in a display. There also was the green box she had seen before. It was open and a bow rested inside.

"I thought this was a better place to talk than home. Here, no curious neighbors. And I sense that you have to get some things off your chest."

Slowly Felicity nodded to Oliver's calm explanation. "Yeah, Mrs. McKenna is the worst. She was always nosey, but since you moved in it's gotten way worse. Last week, I caught her with her ear pressed to our door. That's really low, I think. And I don't know why I'm talking about that when I'm standing next to a display of ARROWS!"

Okay, she had yelled. He had been right, it was better not to do this at home.

She brought her hand to her forehead and noticed that it was trembling slightly. She had run on adrenaline since the second Diggle had tackled her, but it seemed like the motorcycle ride had been a little bit too much.

In an effort to calm herself, and to come up with something to say, she glanced around the huge room. But the only thought that came to her was, "I cannot believe this. You're the vigilante! I really can't believe it!" She shot around to face him again. "You can't be serious! Look at this, this is CRAZY!"

"This is necessary."

It had been a calm statement. He stood there, appearing absolutely unfazed and so very collected. He was in complete control while Felicity felt her own slipping. "Wow, I don't know why this shocks me so much since I know about the men torturing you, but... You really lost your mind on that island!"

"I found something instead."

He was still so damn calm, it infuriated Felicity. "WHAT?" she shot back, trying to get a rise out of him. "Archery lessons?"

"Clarity."

She stared at him. "I hope you don't expect me to react to that, because – CLEARLY – this is INSANE!"

"Starling City is dying," he said, ignoring what she had said. "It's poisoned by a criminal elite who don't care who they hurt, as long as they maintain their wealth and their power. And I promised to put an end to it."

"You promised?! To whom?"

"My father. It was his dying wish that I right his wrongs."

Gesturing around the room, Felicity glared at the man opposite to her. "I don't think that he had something like this in mind!"

"It's the best way. I know who to target. I know who's guilty. They deserve what's coming to them."

"You've got to be..." Felicity gasped. "So, you're what? Judge and jury and executioner in one?"

"I am doing my best to save this city," he argued, his calm starting to slip slightly.

She on the other hand relaxed a little, managed to take some of the accusation out of her voice, turning it softer. "By putting on green leather, pulling up at hood and shooting arrows at people? Oliver, listen to the sentence I just said and hear how crazy it is. This is a crazy sentence!"

"You really would have preferred me fucking around?"

"To you killing people? Yeah! I really would have preferred that!"

They glared at each other, until Felicity ripped her eyes away.

"Why did you lie for me then?" he demanded to know, his own voice louder now. "Why didn't you tell Lance and had me arrested?"

His words echoed through the room, billowing about them until they dissolved. Because Felicity had no answer. She didn't know why, but it had never been an option to rat him out to Lance. Never had she even contemplated turning him in, and she couldn't really explain it. She stood there in the cellar of an abandoned factory, wearing his huge brown jacket, surrounded by high tech used to built medieval weaponry, and it all felt so unreal, like a bad dream. Maybe it was that thought, the memory of a bad dream, that caused her to say, "What do you mean, it was your father's dying wish? You said he died when the boat went down."

"He didn't," Oliver said. Control had returned to him. His voice was strangely void of emotion. "We both made it to a life raft, but there wasn't enough food and water for the both of us, so he shot himself in the head." Felicity couldn't help but flinch. It was horrible, an awful visual. It affected her and she hadn't even met Robert Queen.

But Oliver said that sentence so in such a detached manner. He might just as well have told her that they had once again run out of milk—as they seemed to do constantly, because he loved his cereal and they both hated grocery shopping.

It was his emotionless way of speaking, his cool assertion, that triggered understanding in Felicity. He was detaching himself from it, because he had to.

She felt her posture, her whole self soften as he continued talking. "As much as he was doing it to give me a chance to survive, I believe that he was also atoning for his sins. I need to right the wrongs done by my family."

Her first instinct was to tell him that he wasn't responsible for his father's actions. Whatever his father had done, it had never been Oliver's doing. But she swallowed that instantly, because how could Oliver not feel responsible? His father killed himself, so that his son could live. That must be worst-case survivor's guilt material. She just watched as he took two steps toward a desk and reached for a pale book with wrinkled pages. He held it out to her.

Reluctantly, she took it. "What's that?"

"I found it when I buried my father."

Felicity opened the small notebook; a strange symbol was printed of the flyleaf and was followed by pages filled with handwritten names. The ink that was sprawled out over the pages looked brown, but she also saw that a blue pen that had been used to cross out certain names, names of people who had encountered the vigilante, who had encountered him, Oliver. She felt her hands tremble again and forced herself to breathe evenly.

"Felicity," his voice was unfamiliarly gentle, and she knew he had noticed her distress. "I will make sure that none of this affects you again. I got a call while you were at the auction; there was a contract out, offering money for any information about what happened to me on the island, so long as I wasn't seriously harmed. But that contract was withdrawn."

Her eyes had been glued to the notebook, but now she placed them on him. "How can it not affect me? I'm living with a man who's killing people."

"Only if there's no other way. Killing is always the last resort," he said firmly, "but I will do whatever's necessary to keep my promise to my father." He pressed his lips together for the barest moment, before he added, "If you want me to move out, I will."

Agitated, she shook her head. Trying to clear her head, to sort out what she was feeling, she gazed toward the ceiling that was spreading out far above her.

"I will make sure that nothing like tonight ever happens again, Felicity. I will protect you and keep you safe."

Ripping her eyes down, she glared at him. "I don't want you to keep me safe, Oliver. I don't want you to come crashing through windows and rescue me. Because we're not living in some cheesy movie or re-enacting a dreamy teenage fantasy. This is reality, and all I really wanted my husband to do tonight was to go to this damn auction with me and stand next to me, looking handsome in a suit and having my back and making cursory small talk with the one percent of Starling City, including my ex. And I know we're not married _married_, but _that_ kind of support would have been nice. All of this," she gestured to the display of arrows with the notebook still in her hand. "I don't want any of this." She was breathing a bit more heavily and felt the need to compose herself. "Damn it! Now I really wish we were home, so I could storm off and slam my bedroom door!"

For a very long moment Oliver just looked at her, then he said, his voice soothing in its smallness, "I'll take you home."

Her breathing still slightly accelerated, Felicity stared at Oliver. He simply stood there, unmoving, waiting for her to move or say something. She knew that, if she now told him she didn't want him in her life anymore, he would accept it. She had absolutely no doubt about that. As sure as she had been that he wouldn't hurt her when they arrived outside, she was equally certain that he would leave her if she asked him to. She also didn't doubt that that would be the smart decision to make, on her part. But she didn't doubt either that doing so would still be a mistake. She couldn't do that, abandon him like that, when he so clearly needed help, when he was the worst case of PTSD she could think of, full of guilt and rage and compulsions, hidden behind an uncaring mask. But Felicity had seen the mask slip, she had seen him banter with her best friend and witnessed him join her in mourning of their son. She had seen past the mask and she liked the real him. She cared deeply about him. She wanted him to be okay.

Felicity couldn't say when their lives had become so inseparably entwined, if it had been in a chapel in Las Vegas when they had said yes to each other or if it had been in her main room when they had bonded over an intense dinner conversation, or if it had been tonight when she had recognized the way he hugged her to his body, that feeling of safety like during the Firestorm shooting. She didn't know when it had started, but it had happened. For now they were connected by an invisible bond she hadn't known existed until tonight.

He had found the worst way possible to deal with his guilt, but he had experienced things she couldn't even begin to comprehend. She knew better than anyone what people did to survive. For her it had been emotional survival, for him survival in the most literal physical sense. She didn't like what he did, couldn't approve of his methods, but she could understand that at the bottom of all of this was the wish to do good. It was simply misdirected. Pushing him away felt like the worst thing she could do in that situation, not when he so clearly needed somebody. He needed the home that he'd been lacking for so long.

For another second she held his gaze, before she broke eye contact. Her heels clicked on the cement floor as she walked to the nearest desk and placed the notebook on top of it. Then she faced him. "We need to stop at a supermarket. I need ice cream, and we need to finally buy you some male shower gel. We really can't have the resident vigilante run around smelling like vanilla-almond."


	12. Chapter 11

I'm still ecstatic that the previous chapter was as well-received as I hoped. It would have been really awkward if it had left you cold after I kind of hyped it so much. ;-) Thank you to everybody who took the time to send me their support in all the different way this side offers.

I was told that naming all the reviewers is a bit excessive. I cannot disagree, but I also cannot stop, because all of you deserve a shout-out for taking the time to leave me a message, which I am really, really grateful for. I love every single review. Thanks to: **lateVMlover**, **Laura41319**, **salazarjasam**, **babyshan211**,** livingthefictionallife**, **darklou**, **FaberryBRA**, **VanillaAshes**, **Dark Alana**, **thisloveistreachherous**, **cruzstar**, **BlueJean452**, **highlander348**, **misspsycho24**,** DebzOO**, **emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl**, **foxxandbeanz**, **SretepAubrey**, **kenyancougar**, **schrooten5**, **tauruscir**, **CaRiNeSs**,** krizue**, **matrim cuthon**, **CealSR**, **farmgirl1964**,** nrdhrd3**, **Diiiamond93**, **amkjo001**, **bellapaige88**, **Abatemarca**, **scorpio38457**,** Melmela**, **Ireland1733**, **coriander72**, **SmoakingQueen**, **Ghostfile**, **luzanima**, **ChiefPam**,** Fari q**, **Mika**, **IFancyu**, **Jen**, **Kat**, **Anonymous**,** Luv2Live**, **LachesisBenton**, **thekiller00**, **sanrio76**, and our guests.

Dedicated to the awesome **Albiona**—who very rightfully mentioned that I use awesome too often. ;-)

* * *

><p><strong>October 31<strong>**th****, 2012**

Her family name was a title—and people took advantage of that every chance they got. There were the reporters thinking up lame puns involving crownings and reigns and royal screw-ups. There were the haters who called her Queen Bitch, the fashion bloggers who had labeled her Fashion Queen, and there was that strange collection of followers that called her and Thea "Starling City's royalty"—that probably now included Oliver, too. Felicity didn't care for any of these things, but there was one label she could live with, because she knew where it came from and that it was founded in fondness.

She, Felicity Queen, CEO of Firestorm, Inc., was the Queen of the Nerds.

Letting her eyes travel through the room, she took her assembled royal subjects in. The employees of Firestorm plus their families were spread out around the coding floor. After the shooting, Felicity had quickly contemplated changing locations for the party, but then she had just decided that it was best to dance the horrible incident away and replace the bad memories with good ones. And it seemed like everybody else agreed.

Halloween was the highest holiday in the Firestorm year. Sure, they had their little gathering for Christmas, but Halloween was the time to party. It was a tradition founded in the very first year, when Yongtak had found out that Jerry was into cosplay and somehow it had spiraled from there.

Her people went all out every year. Tonight, Marlon and James had coordinated and dressed up as the Fresh Prince and Carlton—so, that was awesome. Freddy had turned into a Gameboy, which was also amazing, but probably uncomfortable. Jenny had gone the classic route and dressed up as Hermoine, bringing her husband in full Ron get-up. She saw several knights and one Iron Man—of course, there couldn't be a nerdy party without at least one Avenger. Tonight there even were two, because Paige had dressed up as Black Widow, which Felicity should theoretically enjoy, but in practice it left her a little uneasy.

After last night, she had more than enough of people dressing up in leather to fight evil.

That was such a stupid sentence. Sadly, it was the absolute truth.

She had barely slept last night. The mass amount of adrenaline still circling through her veins had mixed with her thoughts running full speed in all kinds of directions. One second she debated whether she had done the right thing, the next she tried to come up with a way to reason with Oliver so that he could see that what he was doing was misguided, no matter how good his intentions were. She went from cursing to worrying within seconds, only to then remember the way he had held her. Going down that metaphorical trail had ended with her seriously stepping on the breaks, because _that_ wouldn't be happening!

It had been hours until she had finally fallen asleep. And she had woken once again to an empty apartment. He had come home for the night and the brewed coffee waiting for her this morning was a clear sign of his usual morning breakfast routine.

She wondered what else was part of his routine that she didn't know about. Was he, right now, in that cellar sharpening his arrows? Was he deciding whom to target next? Was he practicing his archery? Was he... She had no idea what else he could be doing. It all was too foreign to her.

Felicity had dealt with the stress roiling inside her – and with the fact that she had inhaled a whole carton of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream last night – the only way she knew how. Sadly, the workout had only helped a little.

On the other hand, talking to John on the phone and finally believing that he would really be okay had helped a lot. John had the next week off to completely heal. His replacement – a man with the name Jacob Smith – had been waiting in front of her door to accompany her to Firestorm. Now Mr. Smith stood by the stairs trying to look all business, despite the fact that Yongtak had forced him to wear the devil's horns that had prettied up Lulu until she had lost her head.

The party and the intense preparations had also helped to keep Felicity distracted. Even though her wonderful organizational genius Jerry shouldered most of the planning every year, Felicity always made it a point to help set things up. Jerry (looking amazing dressed up straight out of the latest Assassin's Creed) had gone all out. There were spiderwebs, skeletons, and pumpkins everywhere. And, of course, there weren't clumsily carved faces in the pumpkins illuminated by candles; no, the Firestorm pumpkins were the height of glorious geekitude with carvings of Lord Voldemort and Darth Vader and Gollum. It was insane. Felicity loved it.

"What's up with you? You look like your eggs didn't make it out of the fire."

Coming back to the here and now, Felicity suddenly was faced with her worried best friend. "Sorry, I was just admiring everybody's costumes." She smirked. "I'm kind of miffed that you and Tak actually did a couple's costume. I feel excluded."

"Well, I needed a Kanye and he was the only one I could think of willing to go for it." Kristina said and adjusted the huge white fake fur stole that was part of her way too tight outfit that turned her into Kim Kardashian.

Felicity couldn't help but laugh as she looked over to where her Number One was standing by the very spiked punch with those stupid white glasses he probably couldn't see a thing through. "He must be sweating like crazy in those leather pants."

Kristina laughed along and then said, "Dude, you gotta respect his trendsetting ability—once you do that everybody wins..." She lifted her punch-filled cup in a toasting manner and added, before taking a sip, "and gets a rash."

The two friends laughed. Kristina was the one turning serious first. "How are you, hon?"

"I'm good."

"Really?" Kristina lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "After what happened last night you're just... good?"

"Tina, I don't what to get into that right now."

"So, you're not good." Felicity sighed, and Kristina took her best friend's hand in hers. "Felicity, it's okay that you're not okay. A guy threatened you with a gun and a guy with a bow threw him out of a window. That's a lot to process."

And that wasn't even all of it. Felicity sighed. "It is, but it's also crazy. It doesn't even seem real. So, I'm just trying to follow your advice and shake it off."

"That's good advice." Kristina complimented herself, before she smirked. "Care to shake it off on the dance floor?"

"Definitely," Felicity promised, "but a little later. I see that Damian arrived with his wife and I want to say hi."

"I hate it when you're your office you. Always high on the attention and low on the booze."

"What can I say? I'm the boss of all those people."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The Khaleesi of the nerds."

* * *

><p>Talking to Laurel hadn't been easy. He had known that in advance, but she was the only lawyer he could think of and his research had shown that she was not only passionate about her job, but also very good at it. And Peter Declan needed a good lawyer, because Oliver was convinced of his innocence. He was sure that he was framed for the murder of his wife by a man whose name was very high on Oliver's list: Jason Brodeur.<p>

Laurel Lance had reacted as defensively and doubtfully as Oliver had expected her to, but he hoped to have made an impact with her anyway. Peter Declan only had forty-eight hours left. His execution was scheduled, the poison was at the ready, and Oliver needed somebody within the system to help him. Because he, for once, wanted to do this right, he wanted to right a wrong by saving one person, not by simply killing one.

He had dropped all the information, all the evidence he could find, on Laurel's desk and had given her the number to a burner phone to contact him in case she needed help. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do for now. He would have to sit back and see if the legal system did its job. If not, he would have to step in, but not tonight.

Tonight he had to make something up to somebody.

With his bodyguard Rob in tow – for once the guy wouldn't be in his way, so Oliver had just decided to let him tag along – Oliver walked up the last steps and reached a familiar room he didn't really recognize. It was packed with people, all dressed up, talking, drinking, laughing, some dancing next to the office furniture to loud but not unbearable music. Red and orange spotlights were illuminating the room and perhaps a hundred candles were flicking through the carvings in pumpkins, which made the room incredibly hot and the air smell bad.

Oliver found who he was looking for nearly instantly. Felicity was talking to a young woman, an orange cup with a spider painted on it in hand. Her skirt hung low on her hips and her top revealed her midriff in the front. The long, nearly white hair of her wig spilled out over her otherwise bare back. He had no idea who she was portraying, but she looked seriously sexy to him. His head tipped to the side, he granted himself a second to watch her laugh with the other woman, then he walked over to her.

"Hey," he greeted, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

He saw the surprise on her face and he wasn't sure that it was all positive, but she caught herself quickly. "Oliver, no." She gave a little jerk of her head and corrected quickly, "I mean: you're not interrupting." She added a "hi" and one of her fake smiles he didn't really like seeing. "Oliver, this is Katie, one of my graphic designing geniuses. Katie, this is Oliver, my husband."

"Katie, very nice to meet you." Oliver said and smiled. "I hope I'm not getting this wrong, but you're a very impressive... ninja-pirate."

"Thank you," Katie answered. "I think they are the ultimate assassins: sneaky and arr-some."

Felicity laughed genuinely at this, and Oliver couldn't help but smirk, too, just because the sound of Felicity laughing was so nice.

By now Katie was carefully watching him. "I'm sorry, who are you dressed as? James Bond?"

"Oh," Oliver said, "I came as somebody who returned from the dead."

That seemed to stun Katie and left her a little awkward, but once again Felicity laughed next to him. "That's what I call making the best out of a bad situation."

He winked at her and then gestured up and down her outfit. "And you? What are you dressed up as?"

"I'm Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Andals and... many more stuff I forgot. It's a character from a bad book series and an awesome TV show that's quite popular."

"Felicity dresses up as a different queen each year," Katie chimed in.

Oliver tipped his head and studied the woman he had married. "Oh?" he inquired. "You do?"

"It was a stupid joke that first year, but it turned into a running gag." Felicity actually blushed.

"Last year she was Queen Elizabeth II," Katie said and laughed at the memory. When she saw the non-understanding on Oliver's face she added, "The reigning Queen of England?"

"Oh," Oliver's eyes settle back on Felicity. "I think I prefer this costume." He could see that this statement left her a little bit uncomfortable and he was proven right in the next moment when Felicity cleared her throat and very inelegantly changed topics. "Come on, Oliver, let's get you some punch."

After one last smile to Katie, she reached for his arm and steered him toward the refreshment tables. Standing next to him and making sure that the people around them were deep in their conversations, she finally placed curious eyes on him. Her voice soft and not accusing, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I want to spend the evening with my wife, support her with small talk while looking good in a suit."

A sparkle of clear amusement lit in her eye, flooding him with relief. He had hoped that she would take it like that, as a light little peace offering. He took a step toward her and into her personal space and said quietly, "I know that those are your people and you don't need me here, but I want you to know that I will always have your back, Felicity."

He saw clear understanding in her eyes, maybe mixing with remembrance.

Oliver also remembered; he remembered her best friend's words perfectly, they were always in the back of his head. It wasn't her empty threat—that hadn't had much of an impact. It was Kristina's insistence that Felicity was "finally in a good place" that had really struck a chord with him. He wanted her to stay there, wanted her to continue being good. But last night, as he had lain in bed, he'd realized how right it felt that Felicity knew his. He felt a little lighter somehow, like some of weight was gone. He'd slept better than he had in the last five years. And this morning, when he had sat at the dining table eating his cereal and watching the sun rise over the city skyline he loved so much, he had realized that he felt at home in the apartment, in _their _apartment. He felt at home with Felicity. He had done the only thing he could think of right then: he had fled the apartment, racing to his lair full speed while shaking off Rob.

It hadn't been until he had gone up and down the salmon latter one hour later that he admitted to himself that he liked having a home, that he enjoyed being with Felicity, that he wanted to continue being with her, that he wanted to stay close to her and not put any distance between them. But he couldn't be selfish about this. Just because she made him feel better didn't mean that he should make her feel worse. He needed to be there for her, too; he needed to tell her that.

And since Oliver didn't know how to do that, how to put all of this into the right words, he had just put on his best suit and come to her party in hopes that she understood everything that he was trying to tell her.

The smile on her face gave him hope that she might have at least understood parts of it.

"HUBBY!" Kristina suddenly popped up next to him and threw her arms around him. "You came!" She was obviously tipsy. She had been most of the times he had met her, he noticed now, and wondered if that was worth worrying about.

"Of course," he said when Kristina let go of him, "after I was so wonderfully invited."

Kristina let her eyes travel over him. "You're not James Bond, he always wears a bowtie. John Draper? No, he always wears grey suits..." She hesitated, before she sent a blank stare his way. "You're just a guy in a suit, looking good while we're all sweating under our fake fur, aren't you?"

"No," Felicity objected, "Oliver's a guy returned from the dead—in a suit."

"Wow, that's dark," she nodded appreciatively at Oliver. "Well played, hubby, well played."

"I love a hot guy in a suit as much as the next guy, but I think you should have gone the couple's costume route, too." Yongtak called from his position by the punch bowl and held a punch-filled cup out for Oliver. "Imagine him in Khal Drogo getup! How hot would that be?"

Kristina nodded enthusiastically. "That's Kanye-Tak dropping truth bombs right there!"

"Tina here," Felicity said now and placed her arm around her best friend's shoulder while looking at Oliver, "is dressed up as—"

"Kim Kardashian," Oliver cut her off and finished her sentence at the same time. Seeing the surprised faces, he explained, "I've been catching up. It's nice to know how our culture improved while I was away."

The others laughed and Oliver couldn't help but enjoy their reaction. Kristina was about to say something, when her face suddenly turned sour. "God!" She groaned. "Who's the DJ?! Excuse me, I need to tell him about the Rihanna ban."

Yongtak looked shocked. "What?! You cannot ban Rihanna! She's a goddess."

"I thought Beyoncé's the goddess of the gays," Kristina shot back. "Isn't _Single Ladies_ your empowerment song?"

Felicity gestured between them. "Uh oh, I sense trouble in Kimye paradise."

"I will end this Rihanna reign!" Kristina declared and stomped away while perfectly matching the beat of _Diamonds_.

Yongtak followed her instantly. "OH NO, you will not!"

Felicity watched them leave and then turned to Oliver, smiling, "Aren't you happy you came?"

Oliver met her eyes. "Yes," he answered truthfully. "I really am."

* * *

><p>This was the reason the Khaleesi didn't wear high heels, they must be the worst possible footwear while trying to cross a desert. But Felicity loved her stiletto heels: they made her feel taller than she really was. The added height brought her more to eye level with most of the members of the old-men-club who ruled this city. Plus: the heels shaped her legs and forced her posture upright. Felicity felt more confident and pretty wearing them—which was always an important matter for a Queen to have settled. Jerry, always the perfectionist, had argued that black high heels would ruin the authenticity of the outfit, but Felicity had for once ignored her EA.<p>

As she followed Oliver into their apartment late that night, though, she wished she'd have listened. She closed the door, instantly slipped her heels off, and let them drop to the floor. After taking her coat off and draping it over the cabinet she pulled off the horrible, scratchy wig.

Oliver spoke up, "I know that it's late, but... do you have a moment to talk?" He tried the barest smile and gestured toward the bedroom door. "If you want to storm off and slam doors you can do that tonight."

Still holding on to her white wig, Felicity slowly nodded. She was exhausted, but she knew that he was right. They had left things kind of hanging last night, and while him coming to her party was a nice gesture, they should probably use some actual words to clear things up. "Yes," she said, "sure."

Oliver entered the main room first. With quick steps he walked toward the center of the room and then he stopped, turning into the stiff and stony statute she had seen him become quite often since his return to Starling. She sensed that he didn't really know how to handle this so she walked toward the dining table, sank down on a chair, and looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He had been the one to initiate this conversation, so he should actually start it.

"I want you to know that I went to Laurel tonight."

Okay, Felicity had expected him to say many things, but that wasn't one of them. She did a mental and a visible double take. "What?"

"I went to Laurel, because I need her help. I need her to take up a case and keep an innocent man from getting executed."

"Are you telling me that you went to her dressed up as The Hood?"

"I really dislike that nickname."

"Answer my question."

"I did." His body was all tension. He was obviously expecting her to blow. Tentatively, he added, "I wanted to be the one to tell you."

Hesitatingly, she nodded. She didn't know what to make of this, why he felt the need to tell her. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to know all the things he did when he donned the hood. As soon as that thought entered her mind, she realized how stupid it was. Denial had never done her any good—facing things head on, on the other hand, had always done wonders for her. She imagined Oliver standing in front of Laurel all dressed up and ready to do hood-y stuff, and suddenly she knew perfectly what to say. "Did she recognize you?"

"No." Oliver saw the way she tipped her head at him and stressed, "I am absolutely sure: she didn't know it was me."

"We need to get you a voice scrambler. I'll take care of that." Hearing those sentences, which were once again not approved by her brain, Felicity flinched. What was she saying here? She must have lost her mind!

Absolute silence followed her statement. Oliver looked stunned, but by the expression that crossed his face she was sure that he had noticed that she had managed to shock herself with her own words. Sighing heavily, Felicity gestured toward the seat opposite to her. "Would you please sit down? It makes me nervous if you keep standing there."

He didn't follow her request immediately, but after another few heartbeats of hesitation he did as she had asked. Felicity felt slightly awkward, sitting there in her stupid costume, and she grew a little nervous because she wasn't exactly sure how he'd take what she wanted to tell him next. Fumbling with her fingers, playing with the awful wig she was still holding, she said, "I care about you, Oliver. I know that you've experienced horrible things, and I know that you believe you're doing good—"

"I am doing good," Oliver insisted. "This man, Peter Declan, was framed for murder, I'm sure of it. His wife was killed and now he's to be executed for it. Don't tell me that's not an injustice."

"It is—"

"And it's the fault of one of my father's friends, of a man whose name is on the list!" He sat ramrod straight in the chair, his voice hard. "Those people need to be stopped, Felicity. And I'm not afraid to do what needs to be done. I'm willing to go where policemen and lawyers can't. I gave Laurel all the evidence. I want the justice system to try and correct its mistake, but if it doesn't I will not stand by and watch an innocent man die. I won't. Not again."

"Oliver, I know that witnessing your father—"

"My father wasn't innocent," he cut in, "far from it!" He shoved his chair back and got up. "I would appreciate your help with technical stuff, but it's okay if you don't want to get involved. I think it would probably even be better if you didn't. But I'm still glad that you know the truth, because I trust you, Felicity. I'm thankful for everything you're doing for me. I'm thankful that I can call this my home, our home, but if you're too uncomfortable with what I'm doing I'll move out and put some space between us, because I need to keep targeting the list, I need to do this. But I also need you to be okay, because I, too, care about you."

With that he turned around and walked away. She watched him leave the main room and continued staring to where he disappeared until she heard the door of the guest room, of his room, click shut. That sound brought back her ability to move. She blinked stupidly and then she swallowed heavily, because that was both the best and the worst thing he could have said.


	13. Chapter 12

Okay, people, I feel like we need to speed things up a little to get some things done and move the plot along. I hope you agree. Thank you all very much for all the love you send my way. I send it right back, because you're awesome!

An extra package of love for my wonderful reviewers: **livingthefictionallive**, **scorpio38457**, **Dark Alana**, **ChiefPam**, **Ireland1733**, **LachesisBenton**, **thekiller00**, **lateVMlover**, **cruzstar**, **KylieCullenSummers**, **babyshan211**, **CaRiNeSs**, **FaberryBRA**, **bellapaige88**, **BlueJean452**, **misspsycho24**, **ackennedy7**, **Luv2Live**, **emilyhotchner-olicity-bethyl**, **Julieann . I . wilson**, **CealSR**, **jenw123**, **luzanima**, **NorthernLights25**,** Ghostfile**, **highlander348**, **schrooten5**, **PiratePrincess16**,** Barrskog**,** foxxandbeanz**, **VeelaQueen01**, **sanrio76**, **lovelove94**, **TheArrowGirl**, **farmgirl1964**, **K-Marie-M**, **Jen**, **Michelle**, **Abatemarca**, **AnoGal**, **lucavento**,** LoisLane2012**, **Melcole24**, **cmtaylor531** and the guests.

Albiona = love!

* * *

><p><strong>November 7<strong>**th****, 2012**

That voice scrambling thing was the best gift he had ever gotten. Two days after Halloween, after two days Felicity and he had spent avoiding each other completely, he had found it on the dining room table in the same spot where he sat every morning to eat his breakfast. At first he hadn't understood what it was or what to do with it, but Felicity had left a hand-written note, which contained nothing but basic instructions on how to attach it to his jacket and how to work it. Basically, it was an impersonal manual in handwriting, but it also was one of the best versions of a letter he had ever gotten.

Because he knew: it was her version of showing up at a party in a suit.

Oliver had understood all that this gesture, this gift meant, and he had been left a little uneasy by the emotions it awoke in him. He was really happy about this, really relieved.

He was sure that Felicity had given him the devise to make sure his voice wouldn't give him away, but it also had a side-effect Oliver really enjoyed. It made his voice sound really threatening. He had seen the reaction to his modified voice quite often in the last few days—and he had to say that it was not the worst thing to witness.

He had witnessed it had again only a few minutes ago. Leo Müller, the German arms dealer, had visibly stiffened when the Hood had told him that he had failed this city. Now he was laying at The Hood's feet, killed by one of the weapons he had wanted to flood the Glades with. But his bodyguards were still alive, groaning all around him as they lay on the floor, twisting in pain.

Making sure he hadn't missed anything or anyone, the Hood glanced around the room. In the distance he could hear sirens howling. The sound was coming closer and brought a clear message: It was time to get out of here. He could scratch another name of his list.

* * *

><p><strong>November 10<strong>**th****, 2012**

Felicity liked to serve bad news with something sweet. Sugar-coating a bitter blow never worked, she knew that from firsthand experience. Yet she had taken up that stupid habit from her mother, who had told her that she had cancer over a big plate full of waffles with hot cherries and whipped cream.

That had been the last time Felicity had eaten either of those things.

Muffins in hand, she entered Walter Steele's office. "Walter," she greeted with a soft smile, "how was your trip to Australia? I've always wanted to go. Down under. It's just... I have this thing about kangaroos. More of a phobia. They wig me out. They look evil, and I'm sure their picture's up on everything everywhere in that country."

A smile on his face Walter Steele got up from his seat behind his desk. "Not on everything, but it's hard to escape them, yes. Hello, Felicity, it's good to see you."

He had been the first to simply accept her rambles, to not make her feel awkward about them. It was part of the reason why she liked Walter so much, he had always been nice to her, had always believed in her, had always made sure she lived up to the potential he believed her to have. He was a father figure that had been missing from her life for years. God, how she dreaded what she had to do next. Forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the paper bag she had in hand. "I brought muffins. Blueberry, because... you know, vitamins."

"That is very kind of you," Walter said and gestured for her to take a seat in a really bulky brown leather seat. "The last time you brought me something sweet – cupcakes, if I recall correctly – you asked me if QC was interested in investing in you." He sat down himself. "So, I sense that you have another rather serious conversation in mind."

She was too transparent. She really needed to stop being such a creature of habit. She fumbled with the paper bag.

"How are things with Oliver?"

Walter's question ripped Felicity out of her frantic search for a good way to start a conversation she didn't want to have. It caused her to mentally step on the breaks. "Things are good." She saw the look on her mentor's face, saw the curiosity mix with skepticism, and finally let go of the paper bag, placing it on the table in front of her and relaxing a little in her chair. "I must admit that we had to get used to each other, we still have to, I guess. But I like him."

Walter chuckled. "That is good starting ground for a marriage." He raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Thea told me that he comes to Firestorm regularly and that you two share lunch."

That had been a development of the last week. That first day he had come with Chinese take-out and the knowledge that she had one hour between meetings off. That had also been the day Felicity learned that Oliver had gotten Jerry's number at the Halloween party. He had brought pizza the next day and then it had been sushi. It had been nice, sitting in her office with him, making it a point to talk about ordinary stuff and be relaxed. She really enjoyed their "casual hour," as she had come to call it, even if she now had to deal with an increase of paparazzi in front of the Firestorm headquarters. Tak, of course, loved the attention; other employees weren't as happy. Maybe, she'd have to ask Oliver to limit his visits again...

"We do," she told Walter. "We're still working things out and that's part of it, I guess. We realized that we care about each other."

It was the truth, and Walter Steele accepted it with a nod.

Felicity took a deep breath. "I've come here to tell you what I found out regarding the 2.6 million dollars."

Instantly, Walter's posture stiffened. His eyes flew to the office door, but it was firmly closed, Felicity had made sure of that. She cleared her throat and, needing to get things out, spoke very quickly, "The company Moira invested in doesn't exist. The money was used to set up an offshore LLC called Tempest, which isn't part of the Queen Consolidated Group—or anything else for that matter. There's nothing registered with the Secretary of State, no federal tax records, no patent applications filed. But in 2009, Tempest purchased—"

"Felicity, let me stop you right there." Water's posture was stiff, his voice held a certain amount of tension as he said, "I spoke to Moira about this, and I am afraid I was a little quick to jump to unwarranted conclusions before. I am grateful that you devoted some of your time to researching this matter, but it has already been resolved."

"Resolved," Felicity repeated in confusion.

"Yes, Moira explained her actions to me."

"And what could that explanation be?"

"Something that's none of your business," Walter said in a tone Felicity had never heard him use before. "Is that clear?"

"Crystal." That was the absolute truth, because, really, Felicity saw right through it.

* * *

><p><strong>November 14th, 2012<strong>

Those who hadn't noticed the line of people carrying bags filled with food into the lunch room had simply followed the smell.

More and more Firestorm employees were coming down from the second and the third floor to see what was going on and watch the delivery guys set up.

"What's this?"

Oliver turned toward the voice and dug his brain for the name of the girl who'd asked him that. He had met her at the party, but she had been in full costume then and she had been... "Katie." He smiled. "I know the constant paparazzi siege is hard and I wanted to make it up to all of you with lunch." He motioned toward the tables filled with food. "We have Italian and Thai. I hope you enjoy." He smiled at the collected people, dismissed the collective thank you politely, enjoyed that people seemed to honestly appreciate his gesture, and left the room to climb the stairs to the top floor, where many desks were still filled with working people.

"If anybody of you are hungry," he said as he crossed the room, "there's lunch in the break room. Help yourselves, before it gets cold." He reached Jerry's desk, strategically placed in front of Felicity's office, and placed one of the two bags he was still carrying onto it.

"Mr. Queen," Jerry looked up from his sitting position behind his desk, "that's really not necessary."

"I know—and once again: please, call me Oliver." He glanced to the closed office door. "Is she busy?"

"A spontaneous meeting with Damian regarding stock exchange development."

"Is that good or bad?"

In that moment the door opened and Damian James, Firestorm's CFO, left the CEO office. He looked pleased, which made Oliver strangely pleased as well. The two men nodded at each other and Oliver took his last remaining bag and walked into Felicity's office.

She sat behind her desk, facing her computer monitor, but placed her attention on him as he entered. A small smile appeared on her face and he honestly enjoyed her reaction. "Oliver," she greeted, "let me send an e-mail real quick."

"Sure," he said, closed the door and walked to the sitting area. When Felicity joined him he had already spread boxes filled with food across the table. He handed Felicity a fork – the first time he had only brought chopsticks, which meant Felicity went to her next meeting with a stain on her dress – and sat down opposite her.

"Thanks for coming by today," she said. "I can really use a break."

"I sense more than the usual stressful workday."

"Somebody tried to hack us last night."

"Tried?"

"Oh, they failed! All thanks to Tak. He implemented some additional security measures last month that've really proven themselves. I'm thinking about using them as a basis for a new security software. I think we can make it mass compatible with just little tweaking. We just need the bios—" She shook her head and sent him a small smile, "I'm sorry. I don't want to bore you."

"You're not boring me. I have no idea what bios are, but you're not boring me." He reached for a box filled with Panaeng. "But Damian looked happy."

"Yeah." Felicity made a face. "Apparently, the stock market reacts positively if you ward off hacker attacks." She reached for the box with steamed vegetables – Oliver would have bet that she would choose this one first – and she pointed at his spicy meat in spicy coconut cream. "I don't know how you can eat that. It makes my mouth burn."

"I've come to like spicy food. Thai needs to be spicy."

"Oh," Felicity playfully mocked, "didn't know you were such an expert on Thai food." Oliver just smiled and said nothing, while Felicity forked the first broccoli. "Just so you know: after work I'll go to Tina's. Things with her surgeon finally, officially burst into flames. She called me this morning in tears and one minute later Tak stormed in with his hair all messed up." She sighed and brought the fork to her mouth. "That was a bad way to start the day."

"That really doesn't sound good," Oliver agreed. "I don't mean to add any more stress, but I have a favor to ask you."

"What favor?"

"Did you hear about the bank robbery?"

"The one where the police man was shot? Sure, it's all over the news."

"I think I know who's responsible, but I need some more information. Until now all I have is a name."

She let her fork sink as she looked at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that my internet research came up empty and I could use your help in digging up a little bit more."

"A little bit more than nothing?"

"Yes."

Her eyes rested on him while he could see her trying to come to a conclusion—and he could also see when she did and immediately he knew what her answer would be. She gave it to him in the form of a question. "What's the bank robber's name?"

* * *

><p><strong>November 17th, 2012<strong>

The Hood had failed Derek Reston.

The death of the desperate family man, who had been wronged by the Queen family, had never been part of the plan. He had given Derek Reston a chance to do the right thing, but the man had ignored it, had turned it down as pitiful charity that was beneath him. When the former steel worker had made that decision Oliver had known that he had to stop him, keep him from robbing another bank and hurting, possibly even killing an innocent victim. But stopping him had never involved killing him. An elongated stay in jail—that had been Oliver's plan for the man and his bank robbing family. And then he had been forced to watch Derek Reston bleed out on the floor of the bank after getting hit by the gunshot that had been meant to hit his son.

The man had literally taken the bullet for his son—just like his own father had taken a bullet for Oliver.

Oliver had seen many people die, he had killed many people himself, but this death that he had tried to prevent and that had not been his fault weighed down on his conscious. His steps felt heavy as he entered the apartment, carelessly threw his keycard on the cabinet and hung his jacket on the coatrack he had bought, because he hated Felicity's habit of just draping her coats over the nearest thing available.

A soft light was coming from the main room. It was way past midnight, but it was Saturday so it wasn't unusual that Felicity was still up. He heard no laughter or giggling, which meant that Kristina most likely wasn't there. He was strangely relieved by that, because he really wasn't in the mood for her exuberant easiness when he felt like being extremely difficult and wanted to be left alone.

"Oliver?" Felicity's questioning voice came from the main room.

"Yes," he answered and walked around the corner. Next to the only lit lamp Felicity sat on the couch in her comfortable clothes—a lounger and a tank top, a casual sight Oliver absolutely loved seeing. She had her feet pulled up and a book was resting on her knees. Adjusting her glasses she took him in for a second. "You look really beat. What happened?"

The urge to just give her a dismissive "nothing" was overwhelming, but that would be a lie, and he had stopped lying to Felicity the evening she had found out his ultimate secret. "Derek Reston died tonight. He was shot by a security guard."

Compassion audible in her voice, Felicity said, "I'm sorry." He stood stiffly and accepted her compassion, though he didn't want it. There was no need for her to be compassionate about any of this. He had just opened his mouth to tell her good night and go to his room when she patted the couch next to her, "Have a seat."

He hesitated before he dared to give in and accept that he didn't really want to hide in his room. She put the book on the coffee table and turned to him as he sank down next to her, resting his head back.

"You know, I was surprised that you looked into the robberies," Felicity stated. "That doesn't seem to mix with your to-do-list, but I like that you did. I think that's doing some actual good for this city."

"I met the wife of the injured policeman by accident." He sighed. "It made me want to do something about it."

"But ultimately it once again ended up being about your father." Surprised, Oliver's eyes snapped to Felicity who was looking at him with a soft expression on her face. "I saw how the stuff I dug up about Reston affected you, Oliver."

That was the truth. It had affected him. Anger—of course he had been angry, that was kind of a given, he was nearly always angry. But there had also been an unfamiliar form of desperation haunting him. He had been hellbent to make up for the things his father had done, to make it up to Reston. He had failed. And now he was left feeling defeated while the anger was as prominent as ever. "Reston told me that my father gave a speech at the factory in which he promised that there was no way that QC would move production to China." He shook his head in aggravation and disgust. "Proved what a big liar my father was. He never was the man I believed him to be." His voice was turning harder with each word he spoke. "Here I am, targeting the list, trying to right my father's wrongs, but he really wronged Derek Reston and his family and now I let them down, too."

"Oliver," Felicity placed her hand on his thigh, "you're not responsible for the business decisions your father made or for Reston's decision to become a criminal or for a security guard pressing the trigger. You have so much guilt weighing you down, don't add this to it when there's no reason to."

He didn't know what to say to that, because he didn't think that she was completely right. He knew that his talk with Reston in the bar hadn't been a good idea. He hadn't found the right words to get through to him, he hadn't—

Felicity's voice cut into his self-loathing thoughts. "You say going after the guys on that list is the way to honor your dad? Well, if your dad could have seen you, the way you cared about the people he hurt, the way you stepped up to try to help them, I'm very sure that he'd be proud. That's all pretty honorable in my book." She smiled and tightened her grip on his thigh. "I know I was pretty anti about your crusade, but this thing, you stopping the bank robbers—I am glad that I could be a part of that."

He didn't know what to say to her. Slowly, he covered her hand with his. The smile was still on her lips, "You did all you could, Oliver. You did good."

Again, he didn't completely agree with her, but he appreciated her words, her support. In an effort to tell her that, he squeezed her hand while he met her eyes. Silence sank over them, but that only lasted a second before it was shredded by the ringing of the telephone. Felicity flinched and in her surprise practically jumped off the couch to hurry to the phone. "Yes?"

He watched her face twist in annoyance as she listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line was telling her. When she finally spoke up again her voice sounded like a sigh, "Send them up, please." She hung up and turned to Oliver. "Tommy's downstairs with Thea. She's completely wasted."

Groaning, Oliver let his head fall against the backrest again and rubbed his hands over his face. Just what he needed to crown this horrible fucking day!

Felicity was already standing by the opened door when Oliver joined her in time to see Tommy lead his little sister out of the elevator. Her arm was draped across Tommy's shoulder and she was wobbling on her high heels. Oliver hated seeing his baby sister like this. His annoyance was written all over his face as he looked at Tommy, silently asking him what the fuck had happened.

"Don't look at me like that!" the other man defended. "I was sure they'd card her at the bar."

"Yeah, right," Felicity scoffed, "because nobody knows that Thea Queen is seventeen."

"Fecily!" Thea's eyes lit up. Letting go of Tommy she swayed toward her sister-in-law. "I did it all for a good cause. Best kinda charity!" What followed was probably supposed to be a hug, but it ended with Thea practically falling onto Felicity, who quickly turned her head – mostly her nose – away to avoid Thea's breath.

Oliver couldn't blame her for that; Thea smelled like a distillery. He glared at Tommy who held his hands up in surrender.

"Okay," Felicity said and glanced toward Mrs. McKenna's door, "let's not do this in the hall." She led Thea inside and the men followed.

When he had closed the door, Oliver turned to his best friend. "What happened?"

"I don't know, honestly." Tommy sighed. "I organized this fundraiser for the City Necessary Resources Initiative and..." He looked apologetic and slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't invite you. I started this annual fundraiser a few years ago when I tried to impress Laurel and she started getting involved with the CNRI. And she asked me not to invite you, because you'd bring Felicity and—"

"Tommy," Oliver interrupted, "believe me, I am totally okay with you not inviting us to the fundraiser. What's not okay is the state my little sister's in."

"OH, SHUT UP!" Thea was standing in the entrance leading to the main room, holding on to the wall for support. She was glaring at Oliver with fire in her eyes and not even the way she slurred her words could hide her anger. "You don't get to come back after five years and act all brother-y. You don't get to come back and judge us all the time."

"Thea," Felicity reached for the younger girl, but she shook her hands off.

"NO! He doesn't know what we've been through. Me and mom and you! He has no right to be like that. Esh-pally when he doesn't want to spend time with us anyway." She laughed bitterly. "Us meaning mom and me, because he does spend time with you, Fellity. Proba-lly because you put out."

"Thea," Oliver now tried, but she just turned to face him while nearly falling in the process.

"You mighta just stayed DEAD!" she yelled. "It's like you're not here anyways! And when you are you SUCK!"

Oliver felt like she had hit him—and not some slap in face, but a really heavy blow right into his stomach. Her words had gutted him in the worst way, because he knew that she had a point; there was some truth to her accusations—in fact, the only thing she was wrong about was Felicity putting out, but he would lie if he denied the rest. Guilt joined the ever-present anger. Willing the emotion to stay inside, Oliver pressed his lips together as his thumb connected with his index finger in a subconscious gesture.

Thea stood opposite him, swaying and breathing heavily. The Queen siblings stared at each other while a deadly silence surrounded them. It was ended by Thea. "Oh gosh, Imma be sick." She brought her hand to her mouth.

"Not here!" Felicity ordered and pulled Thea to the bathroom down the hall, the one next to the improvised gym.

Oliver stared after the two females unmoving, not even the bathroom door being slammed shut could startle him.

"She doesn't mean it."

Slowly Oliver turned to face Tommy, who looked at him with pity in his eyes. "Oh, yes," Oliver objected, not wanting the pity, "she does."

"I'm honestly sorry. I didn't notice until she was way too drunk," Tommy apologized.

Oliver was angry the other man, because he had let this happen. But at the same time he knew that he was blaming the wrong person. Nothing of what was wrong with Thea was Tommy's fault. He forced himself to stay calm, unaffected. "It's okay. I apologize for snapping at you."

"I just thought I should bring her here and not to the mansion, but I see now that that was a mistake."

"No, it wasn't. I'm glad you brought her here."

Tommy shifted his weight uncomfortably. "About the fundraiser..."

Annoyance mixed with the guilt and the anger, because – really – Oliver had better things to worry about than if his friend did or did not invite him to a party he needed to bring a hefty check to. He had had the worst evening anyway, adding another event he had to sneak away from was the last thing he'd needed. But his friend didn't know that. His friend believed him to still be into everything he himself was. He didn't know that Oliver couldn't care less, that Oliver wished he could have spent the evening home with Felicity while she read her book and looked adorable in her casual clothes. This last thought made him so uncomfortable that he had to bury it deep.

"Don't worry," he hurried to say, "Felicity and I really needed a quiet evening in." Or he could just go and turn it into a helpful cover story. That also took some of the intensity of it away.

"I hate that our girls don't get along." Tommy looked honestly pained. "Maybe, we could go and have dinner, somewhere public where they have to behave. We could just run into each other by accident."

That was the worst idea ever, if you asked Oliver. But his friend looked so uncomfortable that he couldn't tell him that. Oliver had caused enough hurt and pain for one day. "Sure," he said, which he believed was enough agreement while still being adequately vague, and quickly changed the subject. "The meeting with the building regulatory agency is on Monday, right?"

"Yes, ten a.m. I hope everything'll go smoothly, so we can finally start remodeling. I need the club to open."

Oliver nodded. It was all he could bring himself to do to match his friend's excited expression.

"I should get going," Tommy said and brought his hand up to pat the other man's shoulder. "Thea's a teenager, Ollie. Remember how we were at her age."

"I do. That's what worries me."

"She'll come around. After all, we did, too."

Oliver didn't feel like telling his friend that he had needed two years on an island and three more years away from his old life to come around. So he just accepted the comfort with a nod, which was basically a well-hidden dismissal. But maybe Tommy took it exactly that way, because next he gestured toward the door. "I should go."

The men said their goodbyes, both promising to be on time on Monday – Oliver wasn't worried about that: ten a.m. was practically in the afternoon – and then Tommy left.

Closing the door carefully, Oliver stood in the hall. Silence surrounded him. He heard his own blood rush in his ears and dimmed sounds coming from the other end of the hall. Feeling even more tired than he had been when he had first come home, he walked toward the bathroom. As much as he wished to just go to his room and lock the door, he knew that it would be mean to dump his drunken sister on Felicity. Reluctantly, he pressed the door handle down and peeked into the bathroom. Thea was holding on to the toilet bowl and retched while Felicity stooped beside her. The smell of puke and evaporated alcohol was heavy in the air. It was disgusting.

Felicity rubbed comforting circles on Thea's back with one hand, the other holding back Thea's brown long, wavy hair. That was Oliver's cue to enter the bathroom, too. Felicity didn't have to do that, comfort his sister. That was Oliver's job, because it was Oliver's fault.

He had just closed the door behind himself, hoping the stink wouldn't spread, when Felicity flushed and Thea practically collapsed on the floor. She looked horrible, her eyes were red from tears she had shed and that had taken her heavy eye makeup with them. Black streaks were running down her cheeks, pale as the rest of her face. With the back of her hand she now wiped her running nose. Her eyes were glued to Felicity, which was why Oliver knew that his sister's next words weren't meant for him. "I'm so sorry."

Felicity looked at the younger girl sitting on the floor. "It's okay, Thea. You'll have a hangover that'll punish you."

Thea shook her head, but stopped quickly as the movement made her wince. "No, Feelity. I'm sorry how I treated you."

"Thea, you didn't—"

"I DID!" She objected way too loudly. "I didn't know what happened exactly back then. But after mom said those things to Ollie I asked her... and I should've been there. I am so sorry, I didn't want to be around you back then. I was just so—"

"Thea," Felicity sank down to the floor next the other girl and stopped her from adding more. "You did nothing wrong. You were a little girl, you did all you could. You were right to not be around me, it was the right decision. Please," she brought her hand to the other girl's face, "let this guilt go. I'm not mad at you."

Thea started crying. "But I'm mad at myself. I hate what I did. You were my friend when Ollie was lost, you gave me hope. And mom, you gave mom hope. And I let you down."

"No, you didn't." Felicity reached for Thea and hugged her. Oliver felt a lump in his throat that was so huge that it seemed to be clogging his airway, stripping him of the ability to breathe. His index finger rubber over his thumb as he stood there and watched. The way his baby sister sobbed against Felicity's chest tore at him, made him want to sob along, but he was too shaken to actually do so. He just stood there frozen to the spot and didn't know what to do. He felt like an intruder and like he shouldn't be here at all, while at the same time he knew that he should act, comfort his sister, stop being an observing bystander and start being an active participant. But he was reduced to watching Felicity do what he should be doing. She was holding his sister and stroking her back.

"I hate how we are," Thea sobbed now. It was really hard to understand what she was saying, her voice was so laced with tears. "Our family is so fucked up. People call us royalty, but we are just royally fucked up."

"We are," Felicity agreed. Oliver only realized that he was actually nodding agreement to her statement, when Felicity's eyes settled on him. She sent him a small smile that made him feel caught.

"Mom cried after Ollie blamed her for everything," Thea informed them now and the lump in Oliver's throat grew even more, slowly starting to make him feel sick. "He didn't apologize, didn't even come 'round." Really, Oliver could feel the bile creeping up to his throat, because he was just so sick of himself!

"He didn't?" Felicity's eyes mirrored the negative surprise she felt. They were still resting on him, "You didn't?" He didn't get to answer when Felicity continued, using a tone Oliver had come to realize equaled Felicity meaning business. "Okay, that's it. I was thinking about it for weeks, but now it's settled. We're having a Queen-Thanksgiving dinner."

Oliver stared at her and didn't even really notice Thea letting go of Felicity, looking equally stunned. Brother and sister, in pure disbelief, asked in unison, "What?!"

"This family needs some quality time and I'll make sure that we get it."

Thea stared at Felicity for another moment, before she angled her head over the toilet bowl. Another surge of puke hit the porcelain. That was a pretty fitting reaction actually, if you asked Oliver.


	14. Chapter 13

Let's start with the most important thing: a heartfelt thank you to all you beautiful people reading and enjoying this. Many people started following or added this as a favorite and that's amazing. Thank you. Since I can't seem to find adequate words to express how much all of your support means to me just call you out (affectionately, of course): **ChiefPam**, **Barrskog**, **LachesisBenton**, **CealSR**, **nrdhrd3,** **lucavento**, **thekiller00**, **salazarjasam**, **TheArrowGirl**, **CaRiNeSs**, **Babyshan**, **FaberryBRA**, **misspsycho24**, **Lcsaf**, **Dark Alana**, **cmtaylor531**, **Luv2Live**, **BlueJean452**, **bellapaige88**, **Abetemarca**, **highlander348**, **belairdesi**, **luzanima**, **sanrio76**, **NorthernLights25**, **Jen**, **caro567889**, **scorpio38457**, **Ghostfile**, **lovelove94**, **masha . khats**, **schrooten5**, **supercode**, **Lightly Salted Pringles**, and our guests. I don't want to leave "dhh" out who took the time to tell me how fucked up this story is and to question my judgment.

As always: love to **Albiona**!

I know some of your are getting impatient. I've received some PMs telling me more or less directly to hurry things up and end this slow-burn. As much as I understand this longing (season 3 is killing me, people!), I can't do that. I was very serious when I said that this story won't provide a quick Olicity-fix. I'm trying to build a foundation here for their relationship to last on. But I promise that we're getting there. Please, keep in mind the other warning I added to the prologue: this story will contain mature content of explicit (aka sexual) nature. That should settle it and ease some worries, I guess. ;-) And now let's travel back in time to Thanksgiving 2012. I hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>November 22<strong>**nd**** 2012**

This was the biggest mistake of her life.

And that was coming from a girl who had gotten drunk and married a stranger.

And yet, Felicity stood by that statement, because nothing could be a bigger mistake than insisting to host Thanksgiving dinner for five people, including her opinionated mother-in-law, when you were the worst cook in the history of cooking.

Oliver's disbelieving question as to why she hadn't just ordered catering really hadn't been helpful. In fact, as she stood in the kitchen with a gigantic turkey that – for reasons way beyond Felicity – wasn't gutted and Oliver dared to ask her that incredibly unhelpful thing, she threw a potato at him—or, rather, past him. She had horrible aim.

But, damn, his reflexes were impressive.

Thank God, or her lamp would've been history.

Felicity knew that they would have been forced to order pizza if Valentina Asimov hadn't swooped in and saved the day. Originally, Oliver had hired her as their new cleaning lady, claiming that she worked for a company that had very strict and clear rules when it came to professional discretion. As it turned out, the Russian woman was also a master in preparing a classic American feast. Felicity had been reduced to becoming her minion, but she really didn't mind. It was the first time her kitchen had been used for serious cooking, and it was awesome.

"I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Asimov," Felicity said as the older woman reached for her coat.

"It's not a problem, Mrs. Queen. Next time you can do it on your own."

Never! Next time Felicity would just get a caterer. But Valentina was smiling at her so happily that she didn't dare to object. "Yes," she lied, "you're a very good teacher. Don't worry, I won't take credit for this."

"Oh, I don't mind." She smiled again. "Have a nice Thanksgiving with your family."

"You, too. Thank you again," Felicity said, making a mental note to buy this woman the best Christmas gift ever.

Closing the door, Felicity had already made a mental list of what she had left to do. She needed to set the table, but first she'd go and change to make herself look more presentable. Moira, Thea, and Walter would show up looking impeccable, Felicity knew. Oliver obviously did, too. He had already changed from jeans and long sleeved t-shirt to suit pants and a dress shirt. Felicity was very sure this change of clothes was a behavior deeply rooted within him and planted there by Moira. In the Smoak household, a family dinner had never required formalwear. She was about to rush past the main room but, glancing in, she stopped and really registered the scene in front of her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the doorframe. A small smile played around her lips. Oliver sat on the couch, his arms draped over the back, his legs stretched out, and his eyes glued to the television as he watched some football game. It was nice to see him like this, this... She wanted to say 'normal,' but her internal editor told her that normal would never be a good word to describe Oliver. 'Relaxed' was a better choice, he looked really at ease.

He must have noticed her staring, because he turned to look at her and ask, "What?"

"Nothing, it's just nice to see you like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're having a day off."

"Well, you made it pretty clear that I had to be here tonight."

That was true. She had told him that he had to leave his hood in the closet and ignore his list for one night if he didn't want to end up on _her_ list. After all, she was doing this for him. His last meetings with his mother and his sister had been complete fiascos. "If you had—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I failed to make up with my mother."

Felicity sighed. They had had this discussion more than once already—she didn't feel like having it again. "I'll go change." She motioned toward the dining table. "If you want to stop being a male cliché you can set the table."

"This is the first football game I'm watching in five years."

"Seriously? The island-card?!" Completely unimpressed, Felicity shook her head. "That won't work this time. You watched quite a few games last month when John stayed with us."

"That reminds me: did you ask Digg to come like you wanted?"

"I did, but he's with Carly and his nephew tonight." Walking away, she told him, her voice slightly raised, "And I know you're trying to change the topic. You know where everything is. Don't forget the wineglasses." With that she entered her bedroom and closed the door.

When she emerged again, dressed and styled in a way that was fitting for a gathering of Queens, the table was done. Biting back a smile, Felicity was about to thank him (as the boss of twenty people she knew the power of positive reinforcement) when the telephone rang. That was the signal: showtime.

* * *

><p>Felicity had feared tension and awkwardness.<p>

Her fears had been justified.

The situation was beyond tense and beyond awkward—and she had no idea how to diffuse it. Oh, everybody was very polite, but that proved how exerted they were. A family should not be this strained when spending time together. She let her eyes wander around the group. Walter had taken the seat at the head of the table when he had been the only one daring enough to cut the turkey. Moira sat to his left with Thea next to her, Oliver had taken the seat opposite to his sister, placing Felicity between himself and his step-father. Like a buffer. And now they were all sitting here, eating, and not saying a word.

It was horrible.

Felicity watched Thea take a sip of her white wine. Moira had protested a little when Felicity had filled her glass, but Felicity really felt like there wasn't any use pretending that Thea didn't partake on her own. And a glass of wine with dinner wasn't the same as downing shots until you forgot your own name.

"This is very different from every Smoak Thanksgiving ever." To her horror, Felicity realized that her lips were moving and forming words. She knew that she had to stop talking, because her loose tongue would only make things worse. But she couldn't stop, she had to end this heavy silence that was a clear sign that her plan of getting this family together was failing miserably. "Not only because Uncle Bernie would always wear his sweatpants and my cousin would throw his football through the room. One year he hit the television. Wasn't pretty." She had to... stop. Talking! "And Aunt Beth would have emptied her first bottle of wine by now and started singing '_My heart will go on'_. Another un-pretty thing. But I guess that's what having to listen to this song constantly for years does to a person. Beth was a dancer at the Celine Dion residency..." Felicity reached for her own wineglass to fill her mouth with alcohol and keep her lips from moving. She didn't dare to look anywhere but her plate.

Walter chuckled. "Those do indeed sound like memorable gatherings." He lifted his fork filled with turkey. "Felicity, it's all very delicious."

"Thank you," Felicity smiled at Walter, before another thought marched through her mind. "Our cleaning lady cooked it." She flinched. "I mean, I helped. Peeled the potatoes and—"

"That's great," Thea interrupted. "I just remembered something we used to do at Thanksgiving. Dad always made us name one thing we were thankful for—and it had to be something that couldn't be bought."

"What a nice tradition," Walter said and smiled, but Felicity had a really, really, _really_ bad feeling about this.

"Yes," Thea curved her lips into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll go first. I'm thankful that Oliver came back to us..." Okay, maybe Felicity had been wrong. This wasn't so bad. "...so that he could ignore us and be judgmental all the time." Or maybe Felicity had been absolutely right.

"Thea!" Moira chided.

"What?!" Thea asked, noisily letting her fork drop onto her plate. "Am I ruining a family gathering?! O! M! G! I wouldn't want to make this uncomfortable!"

"This is not the right moment to have such a conversation," Moira said calmly, even though it was obvious that it was a forced calm.

"Why NOT?!" Thea demanded to know. "This is the first time we're all together since Ollie came back!"

"What do you want me to say, Thea?" Oliver asked now. He sat in his seat and looked at his sister challengingly. Unlike his mother he seemed genuinely calm. "You're right. I haven't spent much time with you," he glanced at his mother, "and I said hurtful things. I know that and I should've apologized sooner."

Felicity looked at the man sitting next to her and wondered if he even realized that this wasn't a real apology; he hadn't really said he was sorry, but merely said that he should. She didn't know why she thought about that right now or why that realization, his half-assed apology, slightly angered her. She didn't know why, but she still felt like he owed his family an actual 'I'm sorry.'

"I don't want you to apologize," Thea said now, nearly yelling. "I want you to be my brother and stop acting so weird."

The muscles in Oliver's face tightened slightly, Felicity noticed that instantly, and she knew that his calm was slipping. She had been sure that it had been a facade to begin with, but now he was straining to keep it in place. "Who's judgmental now?"

Hearing her brother's question, Thea gasped. "Excuse me?!"

"You say nothing you do's good enough for me. But it seems like I also fail to live up to your expectations."

"Is it too much to ask for things to be like they were?!"

"IT IS!" Oliver yelled and the other four people around the table flinched. Noticing their reaction, Oliver caught himself, bottled the aggravation and the hurt and the fury back up, closed the lid tightly. "I apologize," he hurried to say.

Felicity looked at the man she was married to, who was all smooth surface, but she knew that a storm was raging underneath. It was her fault. It was her fault that he was faced with all those accusations. She had insisted on this dinner, even though she had known, deep down, that it was a bad idea that could only go wrong. Without thinking she reached for his hand which was resting in his lap, his index finger brushing against his thumb. Squeezing tightly, she tried to send him support.

Once again silence sank over the room, but it only lasted a few heartbeats. Moira was the one to end it with a strong, "No." She looked at her son. "You're right. Things have changed." Moira turned a little to her daughter, "Oliver, when you came back and I fetched you from the hospital, the doctor told me that I needed to prepare myself. That the Oliver we lost might not be the man they found." Her eyes were soft and travelled from Thea to Oliver. "I ignored that warning, but that was careless. Of course, you are not the same person anymore. How could you be? We are all different people than we were five years ago." She brought her eyes back to Thea. "We want things to be like they were, but they cannot be." She curved her lips into a smile that showed no joy, only sadness. "I understand why Oliver wants to spend time with Felicity, but not with us. We are remembering the Oliver we lost, when she accepts the man he has become."

Oliver's grip on Felicity's hand had tightened with each sentence his mother spoke. His face looked as calm as it always did, but his hand closed in a nearly hurtful grip around Felicity's. She could see that he was searching for something to say.

"I accept who he has become." Thea objected. "If he tells me." She placed her attention on her brother and addressed him directly. "Tell me something about you, Ollie. Anything."

Oliver opened his mouth and closed it again. He took a deep and slow breath before he exhaled methodically and noisily. Sitting up straighter in his chair, he untangled his hand from Felicity's and placed his forearms next to his plate. "On the island there was a plane wreck, I lived there, because it offered basic shelter. The ceiling was ripped open in parts and on clear nights I would sleep there, so I could see the stars and the moon." He spoke measuredly, slowly while not looking at anybody directly. "The thought that the same stars shone down on you, that you could see this exact moon made me feel connected to you. I know it sounds stupid when I say it now, but it helped me when I felt alone at night. I thought about you every day. My only wish was to come back to you, to be home. But now that I am I know that I don't fit in with you anymore. That's why I'm keeping my distance."

Thea's eyes were swimming with tears as she took in her brother. Moira said softly, "Oliver, you are my son. That's the perfect fit." She reached across the table for his hand. "I love you—I always have and I always will. But we just got you back. Please, don't shut us out from your life."

Finally, Oliver dared to look at his mother. "I'm sorry for the things I said. I was unfair and stupid and wrong." Now Moira's eyes were watering, too, and Oliver glanced at Thea. "And I am sorry for being too judgmental. But I've been where you are and I worry about you."

Felicity watched as Moira got up from her seat and moved around the table. She motioned for Oliver to get up and he did, accepting his mother's outstretched arms as they hugged. Thea joined her mother and her brother, and all of this caused a happy tingle to rush through Felicity.

This was such a huge, _huge_ thing for Oliver to do, she knew. She had seen how much he had to fight to tell them anything. He had chosen to share the most basic thing. Even though it was probably true, it still painted the whole island-experience in a much more positive light than it deserved. Watching the stars and thinking about your family was a nice thing. It also was a more appropriate thing to share during Thanksgiving dinner than the memory of his father shooting himself in the head.

But he had opened a door, at least the tiniest bit, that had been tightly locked before. He had shared some of the things he was feeling and to Felicity that seemed like a breakthrough. The others had seen a little bit of the Oliver she had gotten to know since he had returned and that made her happy.

"Okay, since we're being honest," Thea said, in a small voice, "I hate the graves in the backyard. I want us to tear down your's and dad's."

"What?! NO!" The happy tingle rushed out of Felicity and was instantly replaced by the cold grip of shock. "You can't do that! Then Jonas will—" She stopped herself as she realized that she was talking and what she was saying. The other four people turned to look at her and she shook her head in a stupid effort to clear her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she said then, talking quickly to end the silent staring. "Of course, you should tear them down. I mean, I never thought how Oliver must feel that there's a grave with his name on it. That can only be horrible. And Robert, of course, his grave's empty, too."

She saw understanding in the eight eyes that rested on her and she hated that it only took two sentences for her to fall apart like that. Her heart was beating heavily in her throat as she stared ahead. She couldn't look at them, couldn't meet their eyes. She needed to calm down first.

Lowering her head slightly, she tried to hide her face behind a curtain of her blonde hair, which she had let down when styling for the occasion.

"Felicity," Thea spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"It's okay," Felicity said dismissively as Oliver sat back down, his body turned toward her. "Really, it's fine. I'm sorry. I'm overreacting."

He reached for her hand and only as it closed around hers did she realize that she had curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She opened her grip instantly and Oliver cradled her left in both of his hands. His thumb brushed over her skin and she could practically feel him searching for words.

"Robert's with him." Moira's voice suddenly coming from her left startled Felicity. Her mother-in-law crouched down and looked up at the younger blonde. "I always found that thought comforting," Moira admitted, "that they are together and that Robert's looking after his grandson. He was always good with babies." She smiled fondly. "When Oliver and Thea were little he always took the nightshifts. Feeding, changing their diapers. He loved doing that. Me," she playfully rolled her eyes, "not so much. Jonas and Robert, I think they are doing fine. They have each other."

Now Felicity's eyes were watering. She nodded in appreciation and agreement, and with that movement the first tear spilled. Quickly, she wiped it away. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Moira said and placed her hands on Felicity's leg. "You lost your child, all the plans that came with him, all the dreams and hopes you had for him. You start loving your children as soon as you know of them—I know from experience that you cannot let this love go."

"No," Felicity whispered, "it doesn't go away."

"He'll be with us forever."

The pronoun meant a lot to Felicity. The fact that Moira included herself, and probably the rest of the family, in this… The fact that her mother-in-law showed her that she wasn't alone was so comforting. In the past five years that had never happened. Oh, Felicity had known that Moira had been sad, but she had been sure that the older woman had moved on, that she was over it. It probably shouldn't be, but it was strangely nice to know that she wasn't. There was only one thing Felicity could say now. "Thank you."

"No," Moira said, "thank you, Felicity. I know that this dinner wasn't Oliver's idea, even though he invited us. It has been enlightening. It was about time that we did this."

The others nodded and Oliver's left hand let go of Felicity's to bring it up to her face. Brushing hair out of her face, he tugged a blonde strand behind her ear. "We should leave dad's grave," he suggested. He looked at Thea, who had returned to her seat. "Would that be okay?"

"Yes," she agreed. "Sure." A moment of silence followed, before the youngest Queen cleared her throat. All eyes settled on her. Everybody could see that she was hesitating, but then she seemed to give herself an inward push and her mouth opened, "Okay, since we are on the heavy subjects... Why did Walter move out of the bedroom and to the east wing of the mansion?"

Moira shot up from her crouching position instantly.

"Wow," Felicity muttered, "we're really not avoiding any uncomfortable subjects tonight."

"Your mother and I," Walter answered, as collected as always, "need some space at the moment. The last two months were... eventful and we are working some things out."

"I hope I didn't—" Oliver started, but Walter cut him off.

"No, not at all. I understand your reservations regarding me." He smiled, kindly. "You are a good man, Oliver, and the things that are going on between your mother and me are between your mother and me."

"But you're working things out, right?" Thea insisted while sounding a little pleading.

"Yes, we are trying." Moira said as went back to her seat. "Oh my," she added, "I guess the food is cold now." It was her attempt to change the subject, everybody knew.

Felicity felt like they should all just accept it and reached for the wine bottle to create a diversion. It was empty. "I'll get a new one," she said getting up. "I could really use another glass."

"Yes," Moira said. "I, too." Then she looked at her children. "On a lighter note. Guess who I met yesterday—Janice Bowen." Receiving only blank stares, she clarified, "Carter's mother."

"Oh," Oliver rolled his eyes, "Carter Bowen. The perfect son."

"Is he perfect?" Moira asked.

Oliver looked at his mother. "According to you." After a slight pause he added. "Carter Bowen just won the national chess championship. Carter Bowen's anchoring the debate team."

Moira frowned. "I'm sure I didn't make that big of a fuss."

"Oliver, Carter just got accepted into Harvard and Princeton," Thea chimed in.

"Well," Oliver said looking at his sister, "that's because Carter got a perfect score on his SATs."

"Now," Thea exaggerated awe, "how did he manage to study _and_ cure cancer?"

"All right, all right, all right," Moira made a dismissive gesture, and Felicity felt like she was seeing things. What was happening? How could such a tense beginning continue with such a playful conversation?

It was a Thanksgiving miracle.

And the miracle continued for three more hours. After a very rocky start, the evening turned into everything Felicity had hoped for and more. She had dreamed that this family would finally come together, share a little, spend some quality time together—and they had. Oliver and she stood next to each other in the doorframe and waved as a tipsy Moira, a sober Thea, and the designated driver Walter got into the elevator.

"That was surprisingly nice," Felicity said as she headed back into the apartment. She heard Oliver close the door and turned around to face him.

"Yes," he agreed, "that was a great evening with my family. I needed this. You were right."

She smirked. "You should accept that I mostly am. It'll save you a lot of trouble."

He didn't return her smile, but stayed serious. He nodded agreement and then he took another step to her and pulled her into a hug. It was sudden and unexpected and it surprised Felicity so much that she needed a moment to register what was going on, but when she did, she didn't hesitate to hug him back. Getting on her tiptoes, she brought her hands around his middle. His arms were around her, pressing her to his body. His scent surrounded her, she felt his warmth and his breath on her skin; his closeness was comforting. A small smile lit up her face when she heard his whisper against her neck. "You're remarkable, Felicity. Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome, Oliver. Anything, anytime."


End file.
